how squirelly

How Squirrely

There the three of us stood mesmerized, with nothing better to do, observing the antics of a squirrel. Actually we couldn’t do anything better than observing the actions of one of God’s cutest creations. All right, God doesn’t make mistakes so everything he’s made is cute… to someone or something. This particular cutie was attempting to reach a pecan beyond its reach on a very frail limb by doing yoga or Pilates, with very bad form, it has obviously not watched the self-help DVD’s.

I was recording this hilarious moment on my cell phone (isn’t it great what these things can do.) so I could preserve it for posterity, or win a prize on America’s Funniest Home Videos; why shouldn’t I prosper from God’s creations? He is after all my father, and some of his wealth should trickle down to me.

Oh my gosh, the struggle for the evasive pecan suddenly became a struggle for life or death when the squirrel plummeted downward into our pool! Down and down he went. His nose dive into the water (done rump first) was as ungraceful as his attempts to grab what was apparently to him, the only surviving pecan left in the world.

Cindy, my athletic daughter, acting quickly, leapt outdoors, grabbed the huge spatula used to filter unwanted leaves from the water, scooped up Rocky, (yes we named him Rocky) and tossed him unceremoniously onto the yard in a wet heap of now not so cute yuckiness. All the while Scruffy our terrier was yapping and jumping, under the illusion he'd just been served breakfast. Fast food breakfast. Very fast food. Scruffy pranced about excitedly as his meal reached the safety of the tree. Safety. The same tree he had fallen from had now become Rocky's escape route. Once he reached the pinnacle he chattered some furious incomprehensible obscenities back at Scruffy while licking his fur dry.

"Mom, did you get that!" Cindy asked, excitedly.

I replayed the video. The first half was exceptionally well documented, and then sky, a mesh of frantic, well pedicured feet (handsomely paid for from my wallet at the salon), ground, kitchen walls, empty pool, empty tree, and the new neighbor’s U-Haul, and finally a disappointed pooch sitting on his haunches staring up at his retreating meal; but no sign of Rocky. He was faster than a speeding bullet for a wet scared squirrel.

"Well, it looks like we've made and lost our first million in two minutes." I stated. “I wonder how that will look on our taxes." Dejectedly, I tossed the camera/phone aside. .

Our new neighbors observed all this with amusement over the hedges that separated our houses as we exchanged wordless acknowledgment of each other’s presence before they returned to the tedious task of unloading box after box; box after box we couldn’t see, and not for lack of trying. They were parked as close to the garage entrance as possible. Did they really think the neighbors (us) would be spellbound by what they were unloading? Oh yeah, that’s what had brought Cindy and me to the back door window in the first  place, I guess we are a tad nosey;  hey, we’re woman, hear us roar.

Over the following days we were privileged to unlimited appearances from Rocky; perched on the roof, a nearby tree or electrical wire or preening himself (yes, we could tell Rocky was a he) on the top the wooden swing frame across from the pool, where we had nailed corn on the cob made especially for his enjoyment; actually, we took pleasure in watching him eat as much as he enjoyed eating. He would flop belly down, extremities dangling off both sides of the wooden bar, and swish his tail lazily about constantly keeping his eyes on us as we went about our business of energetically relaxing in the patio chairs, pretending to not notice him. He never ventured on any structure that placed him directly over the ring of water.  He wasn’t the least bit fooled by Scruffy’s. sham of ignoring him;  well aware that Scruffy, the trickster, was hoping to lull Rocky, the dinner, into false sense of security that would end up as shredded meat on canine teeth.

As the summer heat progressed, drying up neglected bird baths throughout the neighborhood, Rocky would make his way down the tree trunk ever on the alert for Scruffy’s scent. Cindy and I would quietly monitor his stealthy movements encouraging him with prayers as he edged towards Scruffy’s water bowl that we had deliberately placed at the old oak’s base within easy reach of Rocky’s parched tongue.  Once we noticed Scruffy displaying a inconceivable display of self-control. He was pointed right at Rocky, front legs bent, ready to spring, teeth gleaming in the sun/shade, stretched from nose to tail like and ironing board, (that’s a flat board used with a small hand held heated appliance to remove wrinkles from clothing, found on display at the Smithsonian Museum). He alternately faced forward growling at Rocky and twisting backwards to snap at the tip of his tail. If I hadn’t known better it appeared his tail was caught in an invisible door hinge or something. I blinked to get a better perspective on Scruffy’s status when Rocky, well saturated internally, but dry externally, high tailed it back to his leafy sanctuary and Scruffy sprang into action like a toy that had just been wound up, hitting his noggin on the tree trunk.  After he staggered about for a few seconds waiting for the stars to clear his head he turned to glare at something behind him unseen to human eyes and snarled. That dog is spooky sometimes, probably the result of too many head injuries!

One night a few weeks later Cindy crept into my room, and shook me awake, and shook me awake….and shook some more. What can I say, I’m a hearty snoozer. When I at last sucked my spirit back into my body, it was to confront an apprehensive face pushed inches from mine, warning me to be quiet. Then the sounds drifted into my hearing; barking and sounds of expensive house hold items crashing to the floor. Something violent was taking place downstairs. Cindy and I huddled together uncertain who should venture down to investigate and rescue Scruffy. This wasn’t a heads or tails debate, being the mother it was obviously my decision…to send her down. She wouldn’t go, stubborn kid that she was. 911 was notified and we stayed on the phone till we heard the police sirens, (boy they got here pretty fast, a first) then we saw the police flashlights bouncing off the border hedges outside., at last the dispatcher released us from the phone and invited us to allow the police in. They informed Cindy (on the phone) that all the windows and doors were locked, and there were no signs of a break in. We weren’t convinced they knew what they were talking about.

Inch by inch, step by step we made our way downstairs; each taking turn being pushed out front!  Chaos. Furniture was up ended, glass was strewn about from an étagère that has once held many cherished Dreamsicles and Waterford pieces that were now recyclables, lamps were laying horizontally beside end tables, curtains were pulled from window frames, and ….and…Rocky was poised anxiously on top of a book shelf, his sides rapidly heaving in and out, with Scruffy at base camp waiting for his next move, one that would hopefully end in a prayer of thanksgiving for his daily bread…er, protein. Rocky! How did he get in the house? The doggy door. Poor lonely Rocky was just looking for friendship in the wrong places. I hope my home owners insurance covered terrorist squirrels.

I opened the door for the police officers who entered with their guns poised for action, till they assessed the situation, then they contacted their dispatcher for back up help; animal control.  Believe me, no animals in this house are controllable, Scruffy will vouch for that.

"Oh no you don't," Cindy stated, using her body as a shield between Rocky and imminent mistreatment. "You're not going to scare Rocky with a man in a white suit chasing him with a net!"

"Please step away from the squirrel," the officer commanded. "Rodents are known carriers of rabies!"

"Don't pull your police profiling in here! Our Rocky doesn't have......eeeek!" Rocky had lunged from the book shelf onto Cindy's shoulder, nuzzled up against her neck, and grasped her hair for added security, then stared the law enforcement down with a look that said ‘ Go ahead and take me, but there will be bloodshed’.

 The police officer immobilized himself, unsure now of how to proceed; somehow I don't think this scenario was covered in the police academies hostage situation classes.

Cindy tentatively stroked Rocky's trembling back to assure him her attentions were honorable and slowly strolled out the door (as I held my breath; after all Rocky was a terrified wild animal)  into the block pajama party that was taking place up and down the street. (I never would have thought old sour puss Mrs. Crenshaw would snooze in M&M jammies.  M&M jammies with the flirtatious, red lip-sticked, Green Peanut M&M emblazoned across her chest). Cindy carefully approached Rocky's favorite tree and off he went to his squirrelly shelter where he ranted spiritedly at us, pointing to the house. I finally exhaled, letting my face pink back up.

Our nearest neighbor, Mrs. Gosper, an elderly octogenarian wearing a nightie featuring delicate lace embroidery and full soft pleats that fell to the ankle offering a feminine flattering allure on a body that was long past offering feminine flattering allure (sometimes you learn too much from people in emergency situations) bolted up to Cindy and me and squealed, "Did you get him!"

"Yes we did! He's up in the tree," I answered relieved and embarrassed that a squirrel could upset our sleeping rituals, and that of the whole neighborhood’s.

"In the tree?" Mrs. Gosper asked. "Why is he in the tree?"

“Well,” I drawled in my best Texan accent, “He’s a squirrel and that’s where they belong.”

After a brief explanation, Mrs. Gosper exclaimed, "I called the police because I saw a flashlight circling around your living room, not a squirrel." She had called the police? No, we had called the police. After a confused question and answer session we realized the four patrol cars present were the result of two separate 911 calls, and that Mrs. Gosper’s had arrived about thirty minutes behind ours due to a traffic accident in route. We all stared at each other then slowly turned our concentration on the house. The police once again unholstered their big guns and ventured back up the steps where they found Scruffy scratching and whining at the hall closet. One officer motioned us to safety behind him, a position my daughter loved, as his partner opened the door. There amid the coats, umbrellas, golf bags and Christmas decorations stood our new neighbor, wearing a black get-up and holding a flashlight as a weapon that the officers quickly and expertly removed from his grasp before flinging him to the floor and cuffing him.

Over the next hour the story unraveled of how our new neighbor never intended to habitat his house, but was using it for the storage and marketing of stolen goods. Thus that is why we never were privy to what exited the u-hauls. Now that I ruminate on it (my reader’s digest word of the month, like it?) I realized there sure was a lot of loading and unloading going on over there.

Evidently Neighbor noticed when my husband left for one of his many business trips this morning and invited himself in to hide in a closet before we locked up for the night. Clever. Scary. He hadn't counted on Rocky's perfect timing on breaking in through the doggy door to playfully taunt Scruffy. They've become such wonderful friends over the past few weeks; well something like friends except totally different.

After everyone and their bizarre sleeping attire returned to their homes, and a major crime spree had been discovered and thwarted, Cindy and I prepared to once again close up for the night. But first….I pulled out a bag of whole pecans and went outside to Rocky’s dining area; he would never be without sustenance as long as I lived. That sweet little baby had had a wonderful part in preventing a horrible crime, if he hadn’t come in and agitated Scruffy, we could have been robbed way before Mrs. Gosper’s police had arrived. Robbed or worse.

I stopped at the back door and blinked. No, I wasn’t seeing what I thought I was seeing. No way. The pecans could wait until daylight. I needed to get to bed, because I had to be sleep walking.

Scruffy and Rocky were sitting on the patio, side by side, shoulder to shoulder, rotating their heads in unison as they watched one of the guardian angels (angels only visible to Scruffy and Rocky) assigned to Cindy and her mom pace in front of them.

"Now Scruffy, there's no need to chase poor Rocky around, you know you don't like raw meat, after all Rocky did a very brave thing tonight, sneaking into the house to thwart that thieves’ plans, and Rocky, you shouldn't antagonize Scruffy, you know he can't climb trees. I want you two to shake hands…paws.. Whatever…and try to get along; we can never have too many friends. Don’t make us come back down here tonight, or any other night.”

Scruffy and Rocky glanced sideways at each other and resigned themselves to the fact that peace was better than enmity.  Plus, who wanted angels pulling your tails to keep you from chasing each other, thought Scruffy, with the acorn size bump still on his noggin from crashing into the tree a few weeks ago! Angels are worse than that PETA organization.

 Six hours later when Cindy opened the back door to head for school with a whooping good story about her boring night she discovered a squirrel and a dog nestled peacefully together on a rattan divan. Checking to see that they were both breathing and not victims of violence, she ran, got her camera and videoed away. How else would she get anyone to believe this story. Heck she had to replay the video six times to convince herself she’d seen it and she still doubted her own eyes.