If I thought he might like a cup of good, hot Folgers, I’d invite him in ’cause I’d like to ask that furry rodent a few questions. As it is, I’ll just wonder.
This morning, as I was sitting in front of my window on the world, a movement caught my eye. A squirrel with something in his mouth, possibly an acorn, was nosing down the crepe myrtle. He didn’t move with a purpose, but in small, jerky runs, as if he wasn’t sure he was heading in the right direction. Upon reaching the ground, he scurried under the juniper, nosed around a bit, then scampered out. Finally, he found a piece of leaf-covered ground under a pot of giant impatiens and began digging. His tiny front paws, which resemble hands so much, moved quickly. Then, he dropped the nut he’d had in his mouth into the hole and just as hurriedly covered it up.
Finally, he started back up the crepe myrtle, changed his mind, ran down the bush and over to my water fountain–the one with the girl and boy statuary. Then, that strange squirrel started nibbling the paint on my stone girl. He whisked around it, a nibble here, a nibble there. I didn’t appreciate this nearly as much as I did when he buried the acorn. Tiring of whatever he found so tasty, he jumped down and scooted back up the crepe myrtle.
I think not being able to make up their minds is a failing of squirrels. Maybe they have so many thoughts going through their furry little heads, they can’t hang onto one long enough to follow through. I could learn something from the squirrel. Making up one’s mind and sticking to the first decision has its merits. If I thought that early-morning squirrel liked coffee, I’d invite him in and ask him what there was on my statuary that he found delicious. But, I didn’t and my chance was lost. Besides, Nemo would have been a deterrent and would help him reach a prompt decision. Now, I’ll be watching to see if he remembers where he buried the acorn and if he comes back for it later.
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