The chuck's not chuckling now!

Chuck this!

Snow is piled so deep in metropolitan New York that Malverne Mel, a regional rodent of some notoriety, has ended up taking a powder. Winter’s long frozen shadow has snuffed out his prognosticating prowess.

That's left Malverne Mel on burrowed time. He plans to be a no-show in the great outdoors. Not even Punxsutawney Phil could have predicted this: A winter so bad that even one of his fellow groundhogs can't take it.

That leaves us with a few meager options to discern if we’ll have an early spring:

1. Play the 1978 Andy Gibb hit, “Shadow Dancing,” backwards. (This would be a lot easier in the age of vinyl instead of MP3s). Gibbs’ voice, though barely intelligible, can be heard identifying the date on which the temperature will crawl past the 60-degree mark.

2. Shine a flashlight on a squirrel. If he sees his shadow – and don't worry, he will – you will owe him six more weeks of walnuts. Squirrels don’t care about spring anyway. They’ve been mating since December and scoff anything resembling a calendar. They all know that us fool humans will feed them no matter what the month or season.

3. You can also wait until Feb. 3. That’s the start of the next major holiday, Chinese New Year. This year we celebrate the Year of the Rabbit. Rabbits are lagomorphs, not rodents - but even if the groundhog doesn’t show up, the rabbit will be right on schedule. The Lunar Calendar guarantees it.

Here's the good news: rabbits move so fast they're rarely looking for their own shadows. People born in the Year of the Rabbit are calm, considerate, outgoing, friendly and gregarious. They also do not enjoy conflict. The Year of the Rabbit that lies ahead of us is described, in general, as a quiet year.

With one less groundhog out there to stir things up during a winter that almost everyone seems to be cursing, that rabbit may be just what we need.

Especially if the rabbit turns out to be Bugs Bunny: What we need, now more than ever, is for the rabbit to take one look at the snow - the same snow that's keeping Malverne Mel underground - and tell us, "Th-th-th-th-th-th-that's all folks!"

Let's chuck it all!

How much winter would a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck winter?

How much spring would a groundhog hog if a ground hog could hog spring?

And -- what’s it worth to you, anyway?

The job market, the economy and global warming have left us all feeling pretty much in the hole right now. But consider the plight of Punxsutawney Phil, the iconic prognosticating rodent who is consigned to spend every winter there for most of his life. Market conditions, tastes in music, art and fashion, and even the growing popularity of the iPad have little impact on him. He stays out of chat rooms and you cannot follow him on Twitter. Don’t even try: Down below the ground he goes in autumn. And up he comes every Feb. 2, on the date that celebrates such a rodent-centric occasion.

Punxsutawney Phil is a kind of Reverse Santa Claus. He is equally fat and his arrival is much-anticipated but he is not so jolly, it seems, for having had his sleep disturbed. Cranky and bleary-eyed, this notorious resident of the North Hole possesses no elves or reindeer. And he climbs up into the light from down below instead of sliding down from the roof into the dark. No milk and cookies await him. Wide-eyed children pen him no letters (not even any e-mail or, more appropriately, G-mail). And sadly, the gift he leaves under our collective holiday tree is not always a welcome one.

So do we chuck the winter, Chuck? Do we go whole hog for spring?

The answer is only days away. Meanwhile, for the next few days, tread lightly on the earth where, only a few feet below, the most important player in the Weather Underground is quietly rousing from a long winter’s nap.

Perhaps, this year, it is best to let sleeping chucks lie.

In appreciation of Appreciation Day

First, the bad news: Jan. 21 can no longer be called Squirrel Appreciation Day. Now, the good news: It’s time to rechristen this sacred occasion as Squirrel Appreciation Day Appreciation Day.

If you really want to do your part, take the next 24 hours to appreciate the fact that 10 years after it was founded by a North Carolina wildlife rehabilitator, this holiday not only still exists but, like an acorn sprouting through the soil, it is branching out and growing strong.

So you're chagrined at being caught unprepared? You forgot to hang the wreaths, to string the holiday lights, and you never bought those plane tickets to grandma’s house?

Worse yet, your stockings are still on your feet, instead of being hung by the chimney - with or without care.

Worry not, you can still head over the river and through the woods – in fact, you should, because that’s where you’ll find all the squirrels.

And you can still leave presents under the tree. That’s the easy part, by the way: Every tree, you see, is as good as the next when your gift list includes walnuts, hazelnuts, pecans and almonds. These are happy one-size-fits-all surprises that don’t need wrapping or bows and aren’t likely to be exchanged one day later for a Sony PlayStation, a Wii or a pair of diamond earrings.

You see, squirrels are easy to appreciate, even if they aren’t particularly appreciative themselves.

On the other hand (which in this case, happens to be the other paw), squirrels don’t seem to mind that their special day falls on the winter calendar sandwiched between Penguin Awareness Day, Jan. 20, an observance that mandates only the most formal attire, and National Blonde Brownie Day, Jan. 22, an occasion that spawns unfettered, nonstop, sugar-laced carbo-loading (but only as a warmup exercise for the next festival, Jan. 23, which is National Pie Day). Squirrels have no problem playing second banana to these holidays (even though National Banana Lover’s Day doesn’t come until sometime in August.) Actually, squirrels like bananas. They could celebrate along with the rest of us.

There is, however, one special celebration going on in Corvallis, Oregon, that has taken squirrel appreciation to new heights – though, in this case, it’s not the treetop kind. A popular local establishment, known as Squirrel’s Tavern, is hosting the third annual fundraiser of the nearby Chintimini Wildlife Rehabilitation Center. Chintimini not only appreciates squirrels but takes them in and cares for them, along with assorted other wild neighbors. Celebrants at this fundraiser are cautioned not to drink and drive, and definitely not to drink and drive and feed the squirrels.

For especially overzealous festival observers, an even stronger holiday warning has been posted on the web site of the National Wildlife Federation. It notes that National Squirrel Appreciation Day coincides with another observance: National Hug Day. While the two gestures of affection seem, at first glance, to be a natural pairing for wildlife lovers, don’t be fooled.

"Please don’t combine the two," the web site warns. "Keep your appreciation at a distance."

Otherwise the fur that flies may be your own.

The walk of fame

Behold the glory of the celebrity signature: A one-of-a-kind, genuine article, unique in all the world, rendered right out there in the great outdoors in the unfortunate impermanence of a snowbank.

But don't be fooled -- this is a real superstar article, nonetheless.

Just as in Hollywood, the big names in our neck of the woods show up wearing glorious fur, except theirs is attached to their bodies for real (and let's face it, they wear it so much better). And just like in Hollywood, these stars are elusive, fast-moving and occasionally camera-shy.

Lacking a Grauman's Chinese Theater as a backdrop, these footprints of the famous are encased instead in snow from a storm that fell from the sky just two days ago. These tiny paws are welcome calling cards, letting everyone check in and announce that everyone, once again, survived.

This is winter's Walk of Fame.

Just don't expect any of these signatures to be offered at auction by Sotheby's. Fast as the snow vanishes, so shall these happy signs of coming and going.

Celebrities, after all, still prefer glorious anonymity, no matter the weather.

Weight, weight! Don't tell me!

They have big butts, fat necks and haven't stopped eating since the holiday season started more than a month ago. They make no apologies for their excessive avoirdupois: Finding a ready stash of goodies, they would eat it while upside-down, if need be. And often, they do:

Squirrels are going heels-over-head for any chance at a fast-paced, no-holds-barred eating binge, whether at the bird-feeder, the exposed garbage pail or even a picnic table in spring. They'll hang on your back door. Your front door. Your pants leg, even.

It's 2011 and you won't find any self-conscious squirrels sucking in their midsections or squeezing their lard-upholstered back ends into some fashionable workout suit just to impress other squirrels. They are at their fattest at this time of year, which also happens to be the season for squirrel dating and mating. And mid-winter flab does not stand between any squirrel and the chance to have a hot Saturday night any day of the week.

Their motto: "Love thy blubber as thou wouldst love thyself."

And so they have no time for bench presses, laps around the track or even crunching their abs. As they shuttle between orgies that orbit around either food or fertility rituals, these libidinous little lardbutts are playing to the point of exhaustion, as if the Roman Empire never fell at all.

Sooner or later, I suspect, they'll weigh in (so to speak) and tell the rest of us how things went. They'll find most of us waiting to hear - in the far end of the parking lot outside the fitness club.

A new breed of Christmas

It's Christmas, and the squirrels are out there exchanging gifts of fecundity. Devout pagans that they are, worshipping the trees and the cycles of the Earth, one could expect no less of them.

They haven't been mobbing the malls, crushing the kiosks or even tying up the toll-free numbers with orders for monogrammed acorns, sheepskin-lined nests or elegant combs and brushes to keep their busy tails bright. They certainly don't need to give one another any nutcrackers.

No, these squirrels are giving one another the gift that keeps on giving. And giving. And giving.

And so...off come the wrappings on their brand of generosity, bought with hormones instead of debit cards. They are bestowing the seeds of the spring crop of youngsters. One size fits all. No exchanges necessary. Sadly, no manufacturers' guarantees either.

So ultimately, we ask in the spirit of this season, is it truly better to give than to receive? Try asking all those mama squirrels in about 48 days.

Girls just wanna have...fun?

Every high school class had at least one - the girl who'd go with any guy, the one whose reputation won her a kind of red letter emblazoned across her chest (or any other equally active body part).

Now, it seems, almost every tree in the United Kingdom has one too: A red squirrel for whom The Mating Game constitutes a second career, if not an obsession, second only to the gathering and cracking of nuts.


The truth can finally be told: Female red squirrels in Britain are sluts. Bad girls. Bushytailed hos. Researchers at the University of Guelph in Toronto are making big news as the academic peeping Toms who have successfully charted the drey-hopping ways of these frisky hot mommas.

It all comes down to opportunity, big opportunity, on the single day in the breeding season when the female reds come into season. They don't just wanna have fun, they wanna have a healthy litter and the more they shop around where the sample is ample, the more likely they are to achieve their goal.

"We found the more males in the area interested in participating in the mating chase, the more squirrels she will mate with," Guelph researcher Eryn McFarlane is quoted as saying in a variety of published accounts of this report.

So the likelihood is eventually that most red squirrel females will indeed find their Mr. Right. They can't go wrong. After all, a tree is not just a tree anymore: It's a singles bar.

He was just a potty animal

Fact #1: A squirrel does not belong in a toilet.

Fact #2: A toilet is an exit, not an entrance. You don't want to be going into it; you merely want to interface with it long enough to send stuff on its way.

Fact #3: This past week's story about a squirrel in a toilet in Oklahoma - the one that made national news - is mildly amusing (and only mildly so) solely by virtue of its happy ending. Otherwise, there is not a shred of "funny" to the sequence of events.

But, it seems, there was indeed a squirrel in a toilet in a woman's home in Oklahoma this past week and she called 911 because she considered it an emergency - for her, presumably, and not for the squirrel, though the unfortunate creature was clearly the one up the ceramic creek without the proverbial paddle.

The news accounts don't say how the squirrel got into the toilet, much less how he entered the house or bathroom in the first place, and even the video accompanying the stories gives no clear view of whether the squirrel was injured - but by all accounts, he wasn't.

Fortunately, there are only a few true-to-life Demons of the Toilet we need to fear. In New York City, many apartment-dwellers are haunted by the prospect of sewer alligators emerging from their commodes in the dark of night and creating all manner of violence. This is the uptown equivalent of the Loch Ness Monster.

And there are other horrifying toilet nightmares that, frankly,I would rather not recount in polite company of my readers. But suffice it to say, these scenarios involve spicy food.

A commode-caught bushytail, however, is hardly a toilet terror.
And though the woman was right to call 911, she was clearly looking to save herself, not the squirrel.

The good news is the squirrel survived.

Perhaps now the woman will have learned something: When it comes hysteria and toilets, it's best to keep a lid on both.

Power to the squirrels

Oh to be small, gray and powerful. And oh, to be a gatekeeper of sorts at a public high school where kids are almost always clamoring for an early recess.

One squirrel made the ultimate sacrifice this past week in granting an early exit to students at Summit High School in New Jersey. He paid with his life.

He separated the educational institution from the power grid, no doubt with the only power tools he had at his ready disposal: his teeth.
The cost, to the squirrel, was probably a dear one (it almost always is): He perished in the act of liberating the kids from class. The squirrel went out in a blaze (or at least a smoldering) of glory.

And as one news account relates the tale, shortly after the heroic rodent killed the juice (and himself) some 1,041 students and an estimated 125 staff were set free. Any squirrel can relate to that kind of love: freedom at all costs.

Jersey Central Power and Light indicated that the high school was the only customer to have lost power.

The squirrel's final act, then, seems to have been highly targeted - specific to the school. It was an early Christmas gift to students who would rather have been home anyway instead of hitting the books.

If that doesn't create another 1,041 new squirrel fans instantly, I don't know what does.

Rest in peace little guy. And let's hope the students stopped to feed a few of your cousins on their way home that morning.

A fly-by-night operation, for sure

In the interest of keeping our nation safe from the menace of bad acorns, a government division known as the TSA - Touchy Squirrel Agency - has instituted mandatory full-body scans and pat-downs of all flying squirrels before they can become airborne.

This has not been easy to implement, particularly when the fullest if those full bodies barely weighs an average of 85 grams (less than 3 ounces) and does most of its gliding nocturnally. This has not been easy particularly because, whether or not the aforementioned suspect rodent is harboring an Acorn of Evil somewhere in those tiny body folds, at the very least he or she is in full possession of the Incisors of Destruction, notorious flesh-piercing instruments are not shy about making an appearance any time of day or night.

Still, TSA agents have their orders to follow: Flying squirrels everywhere are being told to drop their tails, open their flyer flaps, known as patagiums, and give it up for the good of their country.

The battle cry can be clearly heard throughout the land: "HEY, DON'T TOUCH MY JUNK!!!!" - followed by a rapid chattering of tiny teeth.

"Is it really worth the delay and inconvenience?" muse their larger cousins, the eastern grays and the fox squirrels. "We would rather travel by branch."

"Don't look at me when it comes to going anywhere by air," reply the chipmunks, 13-lined ground squirrels, golden mantled squirrels and other land-locked kin. "Our side of the family has kept its feet on the ground for generations."

"Now," lament the nation's flying squirrels, "everyone truly knows that I am naked beneath my fur."

And what of the bad acorns themselves? If they cannot be transported from Point A to Point B by some airborne good-squirrel-gone-bad, where will they end up surfacing?

Stay out of the wilderness, friends:

Surveillance informs us that the bad acorns, no longer being stashed in the various crevices of bad squirrels-in-transit, are ending up buried instead in the Big Bad Woods where, quite predictably, they will grow up to become Big Bad Evil Trees, hundreds of times their original size.

"See?" say the proud agents of the TSA. "The government's system is working."

Pilgrims, all

They're poised at the door, as always, and they want an extra helping of pecan or walnut stuffing. The action is all-too-familiar and unrelenting. And it shows no mercy: gobble, gobble, gobble.

But these guests lack the patience required for the transformation of pumpkin into pie.

And sweet potatoes...are sweet enough, as is.

They are wide-eyed pilgrims from the treetops who've become settlers on my doorstep, colonizing my front yard and the property behind.

The only grace they say, or show, before (and after) their nonstop meals is their grace and deftness in the branches arching toward the sky.

And afterward, there are no Black Friday specials - every day on Earth is a shopping frenzy for them, and I'm always left picking up the tab.

This Thanksgiving Day parade surrounding my house is not sponsored by Macy's, but me. I deserve to ride on my own float for all the effort I make. But I'll settle for the quiet rap of tiny claws (not Santa's) against the windows and doors instead.

And I'll be grateful for them all.

Minus one

Some squirrels are never meant to go back into the wild. They arrive into the care of rehabilitators, broken and damaged, and can never be fully restored to physical wholeness.

So it was with CurleyQue, who in the summer of 2000 was a fallen baby providing a soft landing for the two brothers in his litter, but only by virtue of having landed before they did on the hard, unforgiving earth. His brothers were none the worse for their journey; CurleyQue, however, remained unconscious for a few days.

He emerged from his twilight state into a world of challenges: his nose had been irreparably broken, he had issues with balance, his ever-growing incisors were maloccluded, requiring frequent trimming, and he did not have the best immune system.

What he had, however, was heart. What he had was courage. What he had was an incredible spirit to go forth into life for the next 10 years seeing himself quite clearly as the center of a big universe, kicking up his heels, burying nuts in the wilds of his indoor world, wherever he could - in his bedding, in a pair of shoes, behind a piece of furniture.

When his right eye clouded over with a cataract, partly from age, more likely from his original trauma, he never lost that clear vision of who he was and what he wanted. No vision could ever be clearer than that of a wild animal, even a damaged one.

In the arithmetic of the wild world, we rehabilitators often deal more with multiplication, and the numbers grow exponentially each spring and autumn as the heart of squirrel breeding season delivers its litters to our doorsteps.


Now, as the sun sets earlier and an autumn freeze sinks its claws into the earth, we are surrounded by subtraction. Loss of leaves from the trees. Loss of life-affirming sunlight. And loss of life itself.

On Monday, Nov. 8, 2010, at 2:15 a.m., CurleyQue closed his eyes for the last time and went free. He taught us much during this precious, privileged decade. Now we are the ones in free-fall toward a hard, unforgiving reality.

But for us, there is no one - and nothing - to cushion the sudden, damaging impact.

Squirrels can't get enough holidays

The Formby Times, a publication in the United Kingdom, released a rather a happy report on Nov. 3, with details about Squirrel Fun Day, hosted by the National Trust.

The occasion was actually part of a larger observance - Red Squirrel Week. In Great Britain, this might well be considered a particular kind of holy week, given that nation's love of its native reds.

When you're a squirrel, however, every day is a holiday. Or it ought to be.

And, in fact, the folks in Formby did engage in quasi-religious rituals, or at least pursued the activities with religious fervor. Celebrants engaged in a squirrel scavenger hunt (no competition here - squirrels can sniff out nuts like no one else) and also competed to see if they could jump as far as a squirrel (watch out for low-hanging branches!)

The squirrels are always the winners, paws-down.

Before it was all over, though, youngsters at the event constructed a huge squirrel nest, known as a drey, for the reds to inhabit or play in. In its own way, this was a sort of religious offering to these much-worshipped reds. You can't argue with that kind of offering. After all, lesser disciples have always tithed their nuts to the little treetop icons.

Prediction: With Squirrel Appreciation Day, in January, still more than a month away, the next big holiday on the calendar, no doubt, will be something called Squirrelmas! Only the beard is missing: Britain's beloved natives already have the requisite red suit.

In tennis, no love lost for squirrels

Stop blaming the squirrels. Please, sports fans, stop blaming the squirrels.

In this case, it was one Georgia squirrel - one whose unfortunate proximity to a mountain biking Robby Ginepri caused him to wipe out a few days ago and break an ulna. It appears that the tennis star will now be sidelined for several weeks and no, he can't even remotely claim it's the result of an on-court accident.

Squirrels don't play singles tennis, and they surely couldn't be roped into playing doubles either. In fact, Ginepri is surely convinced by now that the small creatures can hardly be classified as team players at all. Squirrels play their own game, and proudly so.

This little squirrel, thanks to Ginepri's selflessness which saved him from a fatal collision, is still in the game.

And fortunately, Ginepri himself expects to be back in action in time for January's competition, to prepare for the Australian Open. But, in our eyes, Ginepri has already won big where it counts.

Giving a squirrel a brake

Wildlife rehabilitators are known to build unlikely alliances all the time: A tree-cutter, an exterminator, even the occasional hunter.

Now add to that list, automobile parts manufacturer. And, even more locally, add neighborhood auto mechanics who stock those auto parts, made by Monroe, thus taking up the mantle as Squirrel Savior.

On Long Island, one local repair shop waves this flag of allegiance publicly and proudly:



My longtime friend, David P., a professional photographer who sent me this image shortly after discovering it, couldn't have been more impressed to learn that the auto fix-it folks down the street from him are not just customer-friendly but squirrel-friendly too.

In a marketplace where ethics and conscience count, consumers who are energy-conscious, who recycle, who reduce the waste-stream and make purchases that are organic and non-polluting are considered "green."

By inference, Monroe and its patrons are "grey."

The message, in this well-publicized national ad campaign is that if you equip your car or SUV with a Monroe shock or two, you will be able to stop easily and instantly just in case a squirrel, absorbed in the daily rush-hour of autumnal activities, cannot.

Toward that end, this banner is warm and good-humored, engaging and convincing. And the squirrel? Too cute for words. Except for one word - Monroe - which is, of course, the campaign's whole idea. That's the one word they want you to remember.

I know I won't forget. I know that seeing it made me slam on the brakes on whatever I was doing at my computer when this beautiful image arrived in my inbox - and take notice of it. Effective. Dramatic. And, yeah, downright adorable.

Call it "Monroe Shock and awwwwwwwwwwww."

Bollywood goes Bushywood

The blockbuster Bollywood dance number that wraps up the hit Indian film import, "Slumdog Millionaire," has got nothing on these fleet-footed squirrels in love:



How sweet it is too, that this brief rodent romance is actually a commercial for the popular chocolate KitKat candy - which like "Slumdog," is also a hit in India. Created by the international advertising giant agency, JWT, the ad spot wisely shows that squirrels are more partial to nuts than chocolate (Smart squirrels: Chocolate is not a recommended food for rodents anyway). But just because squirrels aren't chocolate-lovers (and shouldn't be), doesn't mean they can't be convincing pitchmen for it. Squirrels don't drive cars either (so far as we know) but they've been effective at selling Jeep, Honda, and a variety of other auto makes. Squirrels have even been used to sell auto insurance, financial services, even chewing gum - so why not chocolate?

Why limit the advertising power of squirrels simply to that of nut salesmen (and sales women)? Their potential as trusted advertising spokesrodents is boundless.

Remember, you read it here first: The next presidential election will be different. Democrats and Republicans will shed the conventional donkeys and elephants and go tail-to-tail in their ad campaigns on national TV.

May the best squirrel win.

Nothing left to give but freedom

When there is nothing left for you to do, you have to open the door. Baby squirrels don't last forever.

If you've done your job, fed them, sheltered them, healed their wounds as best as you could, watched them emerge into healthy wild animals, an open door, a hatch swinging wide, is the only thing left you can give them now. The baby squirrels are long gone; in their place are juveniles, grown and growing impatient.

Open the door. Freedom rushes in at them like a deep breath they've been waiting their whole lives to inhale. It fills them.

Open the door. Let them come flying out or - in this case, strolling out, matter-of-factly. At whatever speed they choose, they will still know what to do. They are following a map that has been etched into their bones since birth.

Say goodbye. Love them from a distance. Don't forget them, though that favor won't likely be returned. And as you leave the woods, empty-handed, move on. Close the door. They already have.

The little warrior

An armada typically signifies a fleet of warships or military aircraft or, at best, just a mass of objects moving powerfully in unison.

Meet a different kind of Armada: The little squirrel pictured here, who bears that name, first graced these pages in the July 16 post as a days-old pinkie. He was the first newborn of the season for a rehabilitator friend of mine, Barbara, and his arrival in her care signaled that the seasons had already changed in the squirrel world - that they had once again arrived in the autumn cycle of their lives.

Armada can hold a syringe in his tiny paws when he nurses from it and he is slowly discovering his ever-broadening world through newly opened eyes. His fate, so far, is a happy one because he has already survived the greatest battle of all - survival. The world is not very kind to newborn wildlife that has been left injured or abandoned, often by mysterious means. For just that reason, every young squirrel needs to be more than a mere soldier. Like this fortunate little guy, every one of them needs power and strength, and the will to live and become an Armada, too.

Victoria, it's no secret

Under where?

Yes, under there!

Squirrel Girls, look out below! Way below! The same manufacturer who put tighty whitey underpants on the market (and on squirrels' private areas) a few years ago - those fabulous stretchy Y-fronts for males - is back with a pleasingly pink version for the ladies. Now ultra feminine squirrels can envision themselves as nothing short of fashionable femme fayTAILS, all the while retaining a modicum of modesty.

But do female squirrels really need to cover it all up? (For that matter, do male squirrels?) The answer isn't exactly a secret, least of all Victoria's.

The Archie McPhee product catalogue is betting $6.50 - the price of these delightful dainties - that those at the apex of rodent couture will scoop these up in no time. One size fits all (they're 95 percent cotton, 5 percent spandex, just in case you need to, uh, stretch your limits a bit after having snarfed everything up in a late-night acorn binge the night before.)

Sorry girls, no thong version is available. And there's no talk of a matching underwire SqunderBra for those four pairs of teats. At least not yet, anyway.

The Enrico Caruso of Squirrels

Singing his treetop arias, he might well be the most operatic rodent on the planet:

Squirrel of the Month

This beautiful young squirrel most certainly captured the ears - and then the heart - of the California homeowner who decided to share the private serenade with the readers of his local paper - an appropriately named publication called The Acorn.

People who think squirrels can't speak for themselves had better listen up, and listen good. Squirrels don't just sing for their supper, they sing for warnings, for matings and yes, even - as in this case - for our attention.

This particular squirrel, however, may have been singing for his agent.

After landing in a prominent space on a page in the local weekly, the squirrel is likely to want his next public appearance on nothing less than a late-night talk show beside a host such as Jay Leno, David Letterman or Jimmy Fallon.

He might just get it too. Recall that "The Ed Sullivan Show," TV's popular 1960s fixture, had Topo Gigio, the singing Italian mouse. Then there was Alvin and the Chipmunks - a group that had their own Christmas album and, more recently, a musical film that included a "Squeakquel."

The 21st century might just be ready for another rodent with a set of musical pipes. I predict this guy's first recording could go platinum overnight. Or at least eastern grey.