No appetite for this solution

It says an awful lot about our species, when you consider the way we humans sometimes approach problem-solving: If all else fails, we make the problem go away by eating it.

I used to think this was a uniquely American trait - seeing how many people in the U.S. could easily swap out their stomachs for trash-mashers with little discernible difference - but now I am not so sure our nation has exclusive rights to this kind of bad taste.Here in the States we are in the midst of horse-racing season, and the nation is still reeling from a tragedy on the racetrack immediately following the Kentucky Derby, when the lone filly to run (she finished second!!) sustained a fatal injury and was euthanized on site.

So I was horrified to learn of an even worse fate visited upon a first-place Derby winner back in 1986, a big brown horse named Ferdinand, who was ridden to victory by the legendary American jockey Willie Shoemaker. Ferdinand did not experience similar glory as a stud, and he was something of a failure in Japan too, where his American owners shipped him eventually, for a second try at procreation.
Ferdinand posed a problem - he was now too old to race and he did not produce a new bloodline of future champions. So he was taken to the slaughterhouse in Japan and converted into something edible. And that is how a Derby winner, and the 1987 Horse of the Year, met his end.

I think of Ferdinand now as I read of one solution to Britain's unfortunate influx of aggressive eastern grey squirrels - a non-native species that never asked for such immigration status. They are, for the most part, reviled, hunted and killed because they displace the beloved native reds - and the latest solution is to serve them up on the dinner plate, energizing the local economy, bringing a boon to butcher shops and posing a fun challenge to creative home cooks as well.
I'll have none of that, thank you. It turns my stomach to think we humans, for all our cleverness, have chosen to think with our appetites instead of our minds. We are a sentient species and yet, for all of that, the best we can come up to solve various problems is to slaughter a champion horse (one of many to have met such a fate, I've been assured) and a challenge to creative cooks everywhere to fry up some squirrel.

The worse tragedy here, I fear, is that people really believe this is the best we can do. I'd like to think we as a species can do better. At least I hope and pray we can.

An effective door-to-door sales campaign

Was there ever a better sales job than this? Knocking on doors, making a big pitch to the homeowners responding, and clinching the deal every time. We're not talking about selling Avon or Amway or even those old old Encyclopedia Brittanicas (for those who remember them).

What is this ambitious little saleswoman selling? HERSELF and her need for some of the best nuts on the market.

We're talking 100 percent success here - sitting on the doorknob until the humans inside realize you can run but you cannot hide, not from the very revealing full glass panel of a back door. There is no escaping the steely gaze of the determined saleswoman who also makes it known she is a single mom supporting a family (when she sits up, you can see she is also still a nursing mother). And notice, if you will, the members of her sales team very visible and present in the background.

Would you buy a used car from this squirrel?
Sorry, there is a sucker born every minute (as W.C. Fields would say) - and sucker would be me, reaching for my wallet (or for another 5-lb. bag of nuts to open)

Outfoxing their rivals

Today at work a colleague approached me asking, "Do you know where I can get some fox urine?" (Yes, I do get lots of questions like that from coworkers).

I resisted the temptation to say, "Take the little guy to the neighborhood pub, buy him a few rounds of Heineken.....then hand him a paper cup and stand back!"
Nor did I say, "Put on a white coat, and hang out a shingle that says 'Fox Urology Office, Our Fees Won't Leave You Pissed' "
And there was even one more smartypants phrase of mine that didn't leak out: "Go out, kidnap a fox and stuff him into a pair of diapers and make him drink a few liters of spring water."

Of course I didn't say any of that. I knew this was really about squirrels. Squirrels in someone's attic. Squirrels in someone's garden. Squirrels someplace - anyplace - they weren't wanted. And because I have long been a proponent of convincing those who would seek to repel unwanted squirrels to do so gently, and using natural methods, when this subject of urine came up, I was happy to go with the flow.

Foxes are natural predators of squirrels and so, if your nose can handle the less-than-golden scent that comes with this byproduct of the fox excretory system, you have what is truly one of the world's most golden liquid assets. A squirrel smelling this stuff will usually move on, having been outfoxed.

We who love squirrels but don't want them getting into trouble - or getting hurt by people who'd rather not have them around (like my coworker) - are all for singing the praises of incontinent foxes.

Fox urine, anyone? Oui, Oui!

Squirrels are political animals too

According to a recent story in the Sunbury, Pa., Daily Item, the Pennsylvania Department of State has received a filing from the Squirrel Reform Party to be a player, among the Republicans and Democrats, in this year's elections.

Now everybody knows there's no George W. Bushytail in the running, and Theodore Rodentsevelt's term is long since past. Likewise, there's no candidate on the ballot named Filbert Jackson (nor a hopeful First Lady, Hazel Nutt, or a vice presidential Walnut Mondale on the ticket). And let's not even dredge up the sorry tenure, in the 1970s, of President Richard Milhous Nutkin.

So what's up with Squirrel Reform, anyway? In a nation where states are officially considered "blue" (for Democratic) or "red" (for Republican), just where do the Greys fit in?

I believe the party is trying to push a simple agenda that includes these reforms:

1. Campaign contribution overhaul: Donations of nuts shall be restricted only during the autumn months, and limited to a maximum of one bushel per voting household.
2. No political stumping whatsoever. In fact, no stumps at all. Trees are to remain intact in order to house the maximum number of squirrel families.
3. No vicious chattering about the opposition.
4. Digging up - and then reburying - all those nasty political rumors

Just think about it: If they succeed (which may not be such a bad outcome, if you think about it), our nation may end up in even more of a race for the Nut House.

Don't be so scaredy, squirrel

He's afraid of everything - strangers, the great outdoors, crossing streets, and especially germs. But there's one thing Scaredy Squirrel (from the book series of the same name) is not afraid of -- public speaking.
In fact, through his stories and adventures, the frightened little rodent speaks eloquently to a generation of children who have become enamored of the books that feature him as their petrified protagonist. (He even asks readers of his first book to please wash their hands before handling the pages - yes, he is THAT afraid of catching something!)
Somehow, in the end, things always work out for Scaredy Squirrel: He realizes the world is not so horrible as it seems, and the threats that are out there, imperiling his very life and breath, are not nearly as formidable as he originally thought.
These gentle, good-humored books are flying off the shelves (perhaps a tribute to Scaredy's status as a flying squirrel) and have been given honors from the publishing world.
Scaredy Squirrel clearly has no fear of success. Quite the contrary: He's enjoying it (as is his human creator) - and he deserves it.

Life imitates squirrels

Researchers have done a fine job in discerning the clever and resourceful survival tactics of certain ground squirrels out West: These small creatures fool their predators by adopting the predators' own scent (in this case, the predators are snakes) by chewing on their discarded skins and then licking their own fur.

They thus saturate themselves with Eau de Slithering Viper, or some other life-sustaining cologne. And snake smell is, to them, the very breath of life.

Corporate America, I guess, is no different. The company where I work (no stranger to snakes of its own, by the way) has been sold twice in six months - not a very happy prospect for a person such as myself, concerned about job security and the future.

But I am not the only one, it seems, feeling preyed upon. Our most senior executives apparently have been taking their cues from the invaders. Not long after we were acquired by an eccentric tycoon with a penchant for dressing in worn bluejeans, our ultra-conservative top executive started trading his Brooks Brothers finery for open, tie-less shirts and a lot more of the "slouchy" look.

I couldn't help but think of the snakes and the squirrels. (Of course, our top exec didn't chew on the billionaire tycoon's skin, so far as I know, and then lick himself all over. But he did adopt his sartorial "skin," nonetheless.)

All in all, I would rather work for a company owned by squirrels than by snakes. At the very least, you know that benevolent rodent ownership will permit, if not encourage you to store more than a few nuts in your pension plans for the lean years ahead.

And thus, save your own skin against the toughest predator of all - the economy.

A tree expresses its "inner squirrel"

Squirrels and chainsaws are not usually a happy pairing. Oftentimes someone takes a chainsaw to a tree, and a squirrel is left homeless or worse - a nesting family is dislodged, a mother squirrel displaced or injured and likewise, the babies injured or killed.

So this happy story, about a carver in the UK, a chainsaw-wielding maestro, if you will, is a heartening bit of reality from the Hereford Times:

http://www.herefordtimes.com/news/3130167.At_the_cutting_edge/

I like the fact that Harry Thomas can whip out his chainsaw and have squirrels appear, instead of disappear. And I like the fact that he creates his squirrel sculptures out of wood (hopefully not displacing any squirrels who lived in the redwood trees from which he gets his raw material.)

Red squirrels carved out of redwood? It seems a natural pairing. Squirrels are arboreal, after all.

Now here in the States, maybe someone can follow Thomas' example and carve pine squirrels out of trees from the pine forest and black squirrels perhaps from the wood of the black maple.

Ah, but the real challenge is this: What do you create a chipmunk from? WOOD CHIPS??

The sacred squirrels of India

There is a beautiful story told in Indian mythology about brave and industrious little squirrels who mustered courage and strength to help build a bridge across the sea to save a king's beloved wife, who had been kidnapped by a monster.

Though monkeys loyal to the king immediately set to work carrying formidable rocks, the tiny squirrels could only carry pebbles, and for this they were disdained and cast aside - with one squirrel hurled, nearly to his death by one angry monkey working among the bridge-builders.

The squirrel's life was more than spared, however. Rama caught the little squirrel before any harm could come to him. And then he - and all squirrels since that time - were given a blessing by Rama, signified by the three stripes across the back - the gentle fingers of Rama's hand leaving their indelible marks.
I first learned of this story from my friend Arul, who was born in India and is there now on a fellowship, reacquainting himself with these sacred squirrels. They visit his apartment terrace, much to his delight (and theirs!) And I was reminded again of this story by fellow blogger Vineeth Sukumaran, who sent me links on the Flickr website to the beautiful photos you see here, the descendants of the blessed palm squirrels.

How fortunate that there is a place in this world that reveres these beautiful, intelligent animals - and protects them from harm.

I wish the western part of the United States could feel the same way about the squirrels' cousins, the prairie dogs, who are being poisoned and gassed daily. And I wish the United Kingdom could also rethink the way it is dealing with an admittedly problematic overpopulation of introduced greys.

I think we need more myths, and more realities born of such fine myths, to build a bridge of understanding between humans and animals often perceived as "pests" or "vermin." Perhaps can we can take our cue and our inspiration from the Indian striped squirrels, and help build that bridge ourselves, one strong pebble at a time.

Robo-rodent

Even in his tough guy "Terminator" role, Arnold Schwarzenegger might not know how to resist the nut-begging antics of this one Amherst, Mass. squirrel: Rocky the Robotic Squirrel is part of a behavioral experiment undertaken by scientists at Hampshire College. And he has a lot in common with Arnold because he is a mechanized life form (without the trademark angry scowl of AHHHHNOLD's "Terminator" role). Perhaps we should call him The Squirrinator.

As he twitches his limbs and barks his prerecorded squirrel noises, his every movement is computer-controlled by researchers watching, through their binoculars, from not too far away.

(Here's the link to the story, http://ap.google.com/article/ALeqM5jvzEsptLwUXYQOaQm5WrTA_8e-cwD90DNC501,
graciously provided by Poetikat, who has proven herself time and time again to be a true lover of squirrels, both furred and robotic.)

Rocky's mission is to interface with the real live locals, flick his tail, stamp his feet and crack the code (if not a few nuts as well) on how the local bushytails communicate. You would think in a New England college environment, the curriculum on this campus might simply opt to offer Squirrelese in their Department of Foreign Languages, instead of having to resort to such extremes. I guess, however, Rocky was born (or constructed) to learn the lingo through "language immersion."

The question remains: Once Rocky has gotten an "A" for his efforts and compiled the lexicon, what next? Perhaps Hampshire can offer adjunct professorships for some of the more eloquent squirrels living on campus - with Rocky, because of all his efforts, presiding over them as chairrodent of the department?

So he's not the Squirrinator after all. Just another "Nutty Professor."

Two fragile lives, two delicate decisions

I'm not saying that being a wildlife rehabber isn't rewarding - it is.

And I'm not saying that being a rehabber is easy - it isn't.

But two tough decisions, and the directions of two lives, hang in the balance in the next week or so....and time is running out on both.

I have a young female squirrel in my care - she has seven toes on her right rear leg, making her mobility somewhat hampered. (Massa, the little squirrel, is one of the subjects of my April 22 post). But it is hard to tell whether she is also somewhat neurologic, another factor perhaps in her awkward way of moving.

Two people whose opinions I highly respect (and who also work with animals) have suggested I have the two extra toes removed surgically by a vet. This is not uncommon but still, a source of concern for me. Still, I may have to make this decision soon. She is now about 9 weeks of age, and growing and.....developing from a somewhat user-friendly juvenile into a wild squirrel - as nature intended. That would make surgical aftercare problematic if I waited too long.

She is on my mind and I will investigate this further - seeking the opinion next week of my vet.

The other squirrel, also female, is a wild adult who frequents our property and is among the friendly ones who "stalks" me for the nut handouts that comprise a major part of our weekly household budget.

As wild squirrels go, she is sweet. And she comes very close (I have a photo of her I hope to post here soon). A couple of weeks ago, I noticed something white protruding beneath her left nostril and I thought perhaps it might be a solidified nasal discharge or something along those lines (yes, squirrels get boogers too!)

Then I found, on closer examination when she came to feed, something that disturbed me even more: It is actually her upper incisor, growing through the front of her face! And yes, it is getting longer each day.

What puzzles me is this: normally when there is this kind of overgrowth there are other issues. Infection, for one thing. Irritation, for another. And thirdly, an equally troublesome overgrowth of the opposing lower incisor which should be meeting the upper, and grinding against it, so both teeth stay short.

If this squirrel is truly suffering from malocclusion (in that her teeth do not line up), it seems to me that she would have had worse jaw issues by now and would have starved. Instead, she can take nuts, presumably crack them, is fat and happy and seems none the worse for the wear. At least for now.

My dilemma here is - do I trap her and take her to have the tooth trimmed? And then.....re-release her only to have this same issue come up again later?

For both squirrels I wonder: When does intervention cross the line and become interference?There are no easy answers to this.
Two lives depend on me making the right call.
Stay tuned.

A "Pip" of an encounter

I learned this weekend that living in the Blogosphere, as many of us do, can help us save lives in the RealWorldosphere, the alternate universe where everyone else lives, off-line. What a good feeling.

A fellow blogger, Poetikat, who usually makes wonderful display of her heart through her verse and imagery, showed her heart this weekend through her actions - she made an emergency rescue of a baby squirrel in her yard. She did this despite her own infirmity - she was still suffering the aftereffects of an allergic reaction to medicine, but somehow retrieved the little fellow while still clad in her pajamas (that is to say she was the one wearing the pjs, the squirrel was clad in his customary outfit). She e-mailed me, I tracked her down by phone, we consulted on what to do, and she made the baby comfy for the night and, by morning, she was enroute to a wildlife rehabilitator through a network I had found for her.

Poetikat and I are not within easy walking or even driving distance from one another. But this resourceful caring Canadian tracked me down here in the U.S. and the rescue of "Pip," as she has since named him, may well make him an international celebrity - the world's first NAFTA SQUIRREL RESCUE!

During this same weekend I cared for, but could not save, a female adult squirrel who had been brought to me, likely hit by car, and in horrible shape. As I cheered the happy fate of "Pip," I cried as this unfortunate adult squirrel grew cold before my eyes.

Still, it is good to know we are all connected this way - not just by our respective Internet servers but, more importantly, by our hearts.

Squirrel has a blog, but no home

You read that right. A homeless squirrel. Anyplace he hangs his nuts is home. Only he doesn't have one.

Meet "Treeless Squirrel." Here's his blog: http://blog.treeless-squirrel.com/
He also has a video on http://www.youtube.com/ - and apparently, quite a following.

Made homeless by the cutting down of too many trees, this activist-vagrant has taken to the streets - and the blogosphere - with the gentle battlecry to PLANT MORE TREES. He devotes his blog to different varieties of trees - and handles the rodent real-estate crisis with grace and expertise that would be the envy of any human real-estate agent.

Humans may have Habitat for Humanity; rodentia has Habitat for Squirrelry, and he is its founder, an articulate, likeable, one-of-a-kind character you won't soon forget.

But then, that's the idea, isn't it?

Santa Monica, a city with a heart

Just a few minutes ago, a colleague here at work brought me a collection of six photos that have become available through the Getty Images news service: they are beautiful portraits of squirrels. Some are clinging to trees, looking stately and squirrelly; others are just hanging out and have had their faces captured in glorious close-up. The photos show these animals with soft, intelligent eyes and inquisitve expressions on their faces, and are meant to accompany an announcement by the City of Santa Monica in California, that officials there have found a humane solution to the overpopulation of squirrels in Palisades Park.

The county wanted to solve the problem by trapping and euthanizing the animals (just imagine what this kind of governmental thinking might opt to do in an overpopulated Third World country!) but the city came up with an alternative - contraptive vaccines.

Well, squirrels have no ethical or religious doctrines against such interventions. And yes, they can be promiscuous from time to time.

Of course squirrels also have no health insurance coverage that might underwrite the cost of birth control. But the city, bless its collective heart, is picking up the tab. No squirrels will be harmed (just vaccinated) and, over time, the population should reduce considerably.

I'm not sure how I feel about manipulating the balance of nature like this but, seeing as an entire city was built long ago on land that was formerly wild, the balance of nature was actually tipped a long time ago. The best we humans can try to do is protect what's left by doing no harm, and particularly by not killing.

Maybe our neighbors in Britain, who have been killing grey squirrels as they imperil the native reds, should visit Santa Monica?

The squirrel factory is open for business

Actually, the squirrel makers have been in business since winter (that was breeding season) and now, since February, the production line has been rolling out the latest spring models (birth season seems to get longer each year).

Two of this season's current models are in residence here: both are female and both arrived, separately, but within 2 days of one another. One is 5 weeks old; the other, closer to 6 weeks of age. Angel, the younger one, arrived bloodied about the nose, with a split and equally bloody lower lip. Her teeth, thank goodness, remained straight and intact despite what I presume was a fall with full frontal impact upon her beautiful face. So far, no signs of neurologic damage - something we dread with this kind of injury. She is nursing nicely, she is eating solids and she is being very squirrelly.

The older one, Massa, is still a bit of a mystery. The homeowners said she was on the ground for a few days, unable to climb, and had a "leg injury" but I suspected it was not so much a leg injury but perhaps a neurologic impairment. Now that I see her, she is not so terribly neurologic (she is twitchy and nervous but that is understandable). Something's up though. For one thing, the suspect leg - right rear leg - has SEVEN digits on it. A squirrel's rear leg should only have five.

Stay tuned on this one. I would like to put them together in the next day or so once I am convinced there is nothing contagious going on (I routinely quarantine new admissions.)

It could be that the squirrel factory turned out a little baby that grew to have defects and Momma didn't honor the warranty.

She'll be safe here. They both will be.

Sleepless in Seattle

From the Seattle Post-Intelligencer, comes this lovely essay written for the newspaper's blog, about the horrors of being a motorist who cannot stop in time to save a life. I encourage everyone to read it for its beauty and compassion.

I have written the author privately to thank her for expressing the experience so well.

http://blog.seattlepi.nwsource.com/straddlinglife/archives/135616.asp?from=blog_last3

Why does no one take notice?

Pulling out of the driveway this morning to run an errand, I saw the very thing I dread whenever I am behind the wheel: Some motorist had struck a squirrel on our quiet street, probably within the hour, and left him to die.

How could no one have noticed?

This is a residential area, not a lot of traffic, and rarely is there a need for excessive speed. This squirrel no doubt was among many we had fed just a few hours earlier at our back door. I have no doubt he was a regular feeder in our yard.

How can someone hit an animal like this and not have noticed? How could someone not have stopped?

And so I came upon his body, just as I was about to pull my own car out of the driveway, and ran to get him out of the middle of the road, where he had died. He was still bleeding despite the life that had already left him. It is a quiet street, there is not a lot of activity and yet, no one noticed. Or if they did notice, they didn't seem to care.

A man driving an SUV suddenly rounded the corner and was bearing down on the both of us as I knelt in the street by the body. I wrapped the squirrel gently and stood up, holding his little body high, and in the direction of the SUV, so the driver could see what I had just recovered from the road. The vehicle was marked with the insignia of the local volunteer fire company - many firefighters, I am sorry to say, often come barreling through our streets even when no alarm call has gone out.

The man shot me a very indifferent look. Who knows, it could even have been his own car that, moments earlier, struck this squirrel.

True, this was a small moment in an otherwise large and busy day and most people would not bother to stop for a small dead squirrel in the road, as I did.

And that is OK. I would much prefer, if next time, they stopped - and took notice - to keep more of them alive.

Squirrel for a day

American TV used to have a show in the early 60s called "Queen for a Day." Its popularity was drawn from its ability to tug at, if not completely unravel, the public's heartstrings. Women would appear on camera and go head-to-head (or tearduct-to-tearduct) with heart-wrenching stories of personal difficulty, and the one who left viewers drenched in the highest possible ophthalmic tsunami would wear the crown and carry off the financial bounty to help solve her considerable woes.

Now we have Squirrel for a Day. At least two news items in the past week have placed people nicknamed "Squirrel" on opposite ends of the popularity spectrum: From Middlesboro, Tennessee comes news of the death of David "Squirrel" Newton Cardwell, a Vietnam vet, proud father, avid golfer and obviously someone who - as his newspaper obituary states - was beloved for his sense of humor. We have no clue as to why he was called "Squirrel" but it is obviously a term bestowed with great affection for a man who will be missed within his circle of family and friends.

At the other end of the bushytail is news of the arrest, reported in Idaho media, of "Earl the Squirrel," a fugitive from Oregon. Unlike the Tennessee "Squirrel," Earl Leslie Wayland Jr. is very much alive and was wanted on felony warrants for what is described as a "one man crime spree" that included burglary and battery. It is doubtful that this "Squirrel" monicker was given by an adoring public, circle of friends or even law-enforcement authorities.

Clearly, squirreldom is in the eyes of the beholder, depending on how you feel about rodentia and the derivatives thereof. I vote tonight for Cardwell's variety of the species, who tugs at my heartstrings, even with the little bit of information his newspaper obituary provided.

A life well lived, which was obviously true in his case, makes us all glad to be squirrels - if only for the day.

Praise for the purple squirrel

Question: Why is this squirrel purple?

Answer (choose one):

1. Because he isn't ripe yet

2. Because his mother threw him in the laundry with all the purple T-shirts

3. Because he fell into a glass of merlot

4. Because he became a serial killer in a vineyard

5. Because Barney the Dinosaur sat on him.

Correct answer: None of the above (but nice try anyway)

A Purple Squirrel is a rare breed, a one-in-a-million job candidate - as I have learned from reading the blogs and web sites of several recruiters and employment specialists. Our company is downsizing and lots of folks are making every attempt to aspire to Purple Squirreldom.

A Purple Squirrel is the "PERFECT" candidate who fulfills all the qualifications that describe a job.

In short, a Purple Squirrel is a tough nut to crack. We should all try to become like the Purple Squirrel.

Squirrels take Manhattan, and what a deal!

Mark Garvin, it seems, is the Donald Trump of New York City Squirrel Real Estate - except he is a most benevolent creator of high rises.
Garvin is also the Cecil B. DeMille of metropolitan planning - he does things in a big way.
He may also be the more mature Harry Potter of wildlife wizardry - he made something dazzling and wonderful happen instantly, and made so many people and animals happy.

Here is an Associated Press account that ran in the media recently. If I had Mark Garvin's e-mail address I would write him personally to thank him, and I'd urge all of you to do the same.

NYC Man Pays Hundreds for Squirrel Homes
NEW YORK (AP) — What may be the cheapest rooms in Manhattan are made especially for squirrels. A self-appointed protector of squirrels has paid to have soft-pine boxes made for the critters and had them placed in trees at City Hall Park.
Mark Garvin said he paid a "couple hundred dollars" to have each of the boxes made. The Parks Department installed three at the park.
Garvin, a biologist, said he and his wife appointed themselves caretakers of about 60 or so squirrels at the park after 9/11.
"That whole park was coated in white dust," he said. "The animals were dying over there, so that's when we really got determined."
The Parks Department also maintains refuges for squirrels at other city parks, as well as shelters for animals the agency deems important because they feed on pests.
Citywide Parks Ranger Capt. Richard Simon said squirrels have many uses.
"Old people like to feed them and the tourists like to see them," he said. "They're just very friendly, and they're cute."

Fat city

And now, let us celebrate corpulence.

Our prime embodiment of Rodentian Avoirdupois, pictured here, is named Sumo. She appeared on our property in 1995 and was the first squirrel I had seen who possessed no neck. She was able-bodied, agile, and large in every way - including appetite. She is pictured here on a platform feeder where she would often enjoy a 12-course meal much in the style of Henry VIII.

Her lack of a well-defined neck in no way hampered her from bending down and touching her toes, and then touching any food strewn about those toes.

It is winter, and the temperatures have suddenly reaffirmed the season this week, and so I have been thinking lately about Sumo - an icon among all squirrels for her nice reserve of "fuel to burn." In December of that year, we humans struggled along with oil heat, gas heat or perhaps wood in some stoves and fireplaces, but Sumo efficiently burned her 9 kilocalories per gram of fat, a rather clean-burning (if not lean-burning) engine.

Sumo visited us steadily for not quite a year before moving on or otherwise taking leave of us. I miss her in a big way....which is of course, the only way one could possibly miss a squirrel like her.