The other day I was walking down the street with the bitches and noticed some pretty heavy-duty squirrel action in the coming block. Not like porno squirrels or anything weird, but about six or eight of them running frantically around in what appeared to be some sort of confused squirrel fashion.
I must admit that I’ve never put a lot of thought into the thoughts of squirrels. The bitches like to chase them and actually caught one once. The squirrels have caused plenty of arm jerks and tight leashes. My mom wages wars against the squirrels in her garden every year. And I do have to admit, although they are a pain in my runs and walks, I do think they are pretty cute and I admire their climbing skills.
But back to the pack of squirrels on Duluth Avenue… so there were six or eight of them, running around crazily, darting through the street, and I noticed the problem as we got a bit closer. Two squirrels were freshly passed away, just hit by a car, their bodies hardly flattened. Sad. It made me incredibly sad. I could only imagine the shock of seeing two of my friends or family members killed at once.
The softy in me started to tear up. I am, after all, the girl who used to hold funerals for the dead birds I would find around the neighborhood. So as I’m starting to cry, we’re getting closer, and simultaneously, the bitches and the surviving squirrels were aware of each other.
The previously mentioned frantic pace turned into a complete manic episode for the pack of squirrels. The bitches started to pull as the squirrels ran to the other side of the street, seeking refuge up trees. And as I looked across in the mayhem, I saw a third squirrel who was injured, his back legs just mangled, who was trying desperately to get to the tree, but the legs just wouldn’t work. He would use the front paws with every muscle he had but he could only get about a foot before having to stop and regroup.
Part of me wanted to go across the street and put him out of his misery. But it wasn’t like carry a shovel with me on a walk and death by bitch, although probably quicker than what he was to experience, just wasn’t something I could stomach.
But then the damnedest thing happened. One of his little friends came back for him. Braving the threat of the bitches, other humans, cars, and the world in general, the second squirrel came back to the injured one and started talking to him, pushing him and encouraging him. Like a soldier going back for an injured friend.
Then the bitches quit pulling and watched.
Then I just cried. Bawled actually.
Nobody ever taught that squirrel loyalty or bravery. He just knew. He just knew that you don’t leave your friend who’s in trouble. There was no reward for his action. And while I’m not fluent in squirrel, I swear he was trying to spur on his buddy. That little squirrel had more guts than most people I’ve ever known.
I don’t know why the bitches quit pulling and just watched the squirrels. Maybe they knew his inevitable fate and saw an easy meal. Or maybe they knew his inevitable fate and offered up a little cross species respect. It sounds like a lot of credit to give to a dog, but after seeing the intuitive nature of that squirrel, who knows?
