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.

A break to liven things up

After sadness, a bit of lightness for which I have to thank my good neighbor to the north, Poetikat. She has tagged me ever so gently with this friendly 4x4 meme, and I dutifully respond, with the same enthusiasm in which a squirrel retrieves a precious tossed pecan:

FOUR JOBS I HAVE HELD IN MY LIFE:

1. In an era well before MS Word and such software toys as "mail merge" I typed names and addresses on envelopes. And then on more envelopes and more envelopes and then....on address labels. And then on more envelopes. And more envelopes. (Well, you get the idea. I typed 95 words a minute, most of it accurately, so the envelopes and labels just kept piling up awaiting my handiwork.) Oh and did I mention, more envelopes?

2. I was also a radio advertising copywriter and producer, at a small market radio station that was situated, strangely enough, only a mile or two from where I am now living. Clients requiring original (and hopefully humorous) copy included a small independent grocer, a place that sold sewing machines and, yes, even a neighborhood farm stand. (For that commercial, I had the announcer read my highly descriptive copy while attempting to eat a juicy ear of freshly steamed corn on the cob. It left the studio a mess of cobs and kernels.)

3. Shoveling horse poop. The less said about this the better. Use your imagination. I did not do this for remuneration (or re-MANURE-ation, as the case may be) but in exchange for riding lessons.

4. Newspaper copy editor. (See previous item with reference to shoveling huge quantities).

FOUR TV SHOWS I RECORD:

Sorry but I must pass on this part of the meme. I don't watch TV, either recorded or unrecorded.

FOUR PLACES I HAVE BEEN:

1. I was in Dallas, Texas, in 1979 to attend a national newspaper conference and while there visited the site where President John F. Kennedy was assassinated. I also now know why I am a devoted northeasterner. I could never stand the heat down there, even without the humidity.

2. I have been to Chicago, Illinois a couple of times - the last time, it was to attend the wedding of a friend who lives and works there. I like the fact that, unlike Manhattan, it is cosmopolitan in a midwestern way and infinitely more navigable by car.

3. I went to Montreal during the 1980s and had a great time staying in a hotel that was run by students who were training in the hospitality industry. I felt like I could be the lousiest guest and I would be doing them a great service because they would work hard to earn an "A" - pleasing the most curmudgeonly of guests. In the end, however, I turned out to be a most agreeable guest. My plans to make trouble were shattered by an unbearable sense of guilt over my intentions.

4. I have also been to Hell and back. At least this week. Our employer is in the midst of having buyouts and layoffs. (OK, maybe this location doesn't count, particularly for readers who don't believe in Hell. So let me also say I have been to Lewes, Delaware for the annual migration of the shorebirds along the Atlantic Coast. They stop in the area known as the "DelMarVa" peninsula to feed on the horseshoe crabs and it is a wonder to behold, even if you are not a birder.)

FOUR FAVORITE FOODS:

1. Scottish or steel-cut oatmeal. Yum. I'll eat this for breakfast in the morning, even in the heat of July. Serve it to me with sliced bananas and a cup of coffee and I will follow you home.

2. Any vegetarian Indian food. Samosas. Dosas. Anything with paneer. And oh my God, anything with dal.

3. Natural chunky peanut butter on a toasted pumpernickel bagel. I will run you over using a bulldozer, without a second thought, if you stand between me and this favorite lunch.

4. Foods with pumpkin. Pumpkin filled ravioli. Chunks of pumpkin over Afghani rice. The pumpkin-sweet potato soup I make in my own kitchen. I think I want to turn into a pumpkin.

OK, I am done!

Goodbye, little one

I never got to see the squirrel but, by two accounts, she was about a week old.

A rescuer phoned today reporting that he'd found a baby squirrel a couple of days ago and was seeking placement and proper care. He was hopeful I'd be the one to take the baby: He'd been given my name by a wildlife group which, unfortunately, didn't tell him that because of my full-time job and the newborns' high maintenance, I can't take any in.

Or perhaps that was fortunate: Because I at least had the name of a rehabber he could call - someone who not only rehabs newborn squirrels well but has an incubator and a full service nursery for them. He immediately called her and took the squirrel there.

The squirrel, which turned out to be a little female, died within an hour of his handing her over. Perhaps she had grown too chilled at one point earlier and never recovered fully from that dangerous loss of body heat. Perhaps it was the delayed aftereffects of prolonged exposure after she was orphaned but before she was brought indoors.

We will never know. I do know the instant I heard he had found someone to take her - and drove the baby there - I felt hope. An hour and a half later, I crashed when I heard the news. I thought that maybe, just maybe, today I could help save the life of one of the first newborn squirrels of the 2008 "spring baby" season.


I've been down this road before on the rare occasion I have had any newborns in my care for any period of time. They are fragile beings. They are born with everything they need to grow into perfect squirrels within a matter of weeks, but an interruption in their life - a fall from a tree, or being orphaned - challenges their realization of that destiny.

The photo on this page is not a photo of her - but it might as well be. I took this photo about 8 or 9 years ago after another rehabber stopped off at my house to show me the newborn she had just picked up. We did a very quick photo shoot (I had never seen a newborn squirrel before) and then she headed home.

This photo stands as one of many reminders that life is precious and fragile. In this photo he is pink and still breathing, the image of a viable newborn etched forever. But the baby in this photo didn't make it either. He died only hours later.

Happy endings and humility

There's nothing like being bested by a rodent or two to instill, or reinforce, one's humility.

Alaskan journalist, Richard Chiappone, tells of the philosophical war he had with his wife recently about the presence of the non-rent-paying tenants living the life of Martha Stewart under the roof of their cabin. She was pro-squirrel; he was anti.

Suspicious of their propensity toward chewing wires and wreaking other kinds of havoc, he set about displacing him. (Disclaimer: No squirrels were harmed in any of these acts.) The surprise ending is somewhat of a happy one (at least for the squirrels and his wife).

Here's the link. The narrative is a little like a squirrel tail itself - somewhat long and of course luxuriously bushy. But trust me, you will be glad you read whole thing.

http://www.anchoragepress.com/site/basicarticle.asp?ID=497

Social climbers

Inspired by having seen far too many cars on the road bearing the boastful bumper sticker, "This car climbed Mount Washington," I would like to suggest a certain bumper sticker for a certain squirrel in our yard.

"This squirrel climbed our storm door."

How he does it (and yes, it is a male) I do not know. That outside door, leading to the deck on the eastern side of our house, is pure smooth metal and glass. And unless this is the world's first rodent to have suction cups instead of claws affixed to the ends of his digits, I am baffled at where he comes by this talent.

He does this regularly and hangs there, looking in. Often he does this just as I'm settling down for my beloved breakfast of Scottish oatmeal with sliced banana. Or my lunch of chunky peanut butter on a toasted pumpernickel bagel. Or sometimes if I'm just having my coffee and reading whatever book I happen to be immersed in.

He disrupts me with his steely-eyed glare, delivered from a gravity-defying 6 feet on high, a climb miraculously achieved solely to fulfill his aim to manipulate through guilt: feed me. Feed me. Feed me again.

His appetite holds me hostage. So too does his athleticism and cuteness.

Today he was in position again, toward the very top of the door, staring in at me just as I started rinsing the dishes after lunch. Only this time, he had company - another squirrel was now hanging on the opposite side of the door.

Looks like I'll have to buy twice as many bags of nuts next time I go shopping.

And a second bumper sticker.

As American as apple pie

To some folks, there's nothing like apple pie, backyard barbecue, hot dogs and hamburgers to symbolize good old American cuisine. My vegetarian sensibilities have trouble with some of this, of course, but I am willing to accept them as part of our national culture. Some of my best friends do, after all, suffer from burger breath.

Much has been made lately of presidential hopeful Mike Huckabee's predilection toward collegiate squirrel-eating. Debates, jokes - and even a few recipes- have been added to the public verbal fray. One of the more recent entries into the dialectic is posted below, and was written to the Boston Globe, which posted it on their web site, boston.com

MIKE HUCKABEE, in my opinion an honorable man, has been ridiculed for eating fried squirrel while in college. This is better than smoking dope, swallowing goldfish, or stuffing people in phone booths. There was a time when squirrel was a mainstay in the diets of the Founders, who, at great risk of life and fortune, defended the principles upon which our nation was established.

I come from a part of the country where squirrel was common fare to the family of a hard-working coal miner. I now live in a part of the country where many people still eat squirrel. Some of us also eat rabbit, venison, frog legs, gator tail, catfish, and even a bite or two of rattlesnake every once in a while. We also are willing to defend the principles upon which our beloved nation was founded.

I find it interesting that this fellow equates squirrel-consumption with patriotism. I thought our nation's colors were red, white and blue - not gray and red. I am getting a whole new take on civics from this New Englander's letter to the newspaper.

So I will keep this in mind as our nation celebrates Presidents' Day on Monday, a federal holiday on which Americans give thought not just to the men who kept our country strong in years past, but those who, like Huckabee, aspire to lead our nation toward a brighter future.

In Huckabee's case, not so much brighter - but bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.

I shudder at the very thought.

Let's talk politics

The presidential election just got way too squirrelly for me.

A Wall Street Journal article about GOP candidate Mike Huckabee - already not the favorite on my list - recaps a recent TV interview Huckabee had with journalist Tim Russert. The interview concluded with a query about the now-famous "squirrel-eating episode" that capped Huckabee's collegiate days.

Here's an excerpt from the WSJ article:

Was it true, he asked the Republican contender, that he had fried squirrel in a popcorn popper in college? Mr. Huckabee confirmed his prior squirrel consumption but appeared to back away from defending the flavor. “It’s not the best thing in the world,” and doesn’t really taste like chicken, he conceded.

I realize there are regional and cultural differences in this world, even in this nation, when it comes to our choices for ingestion, and I also realize I'm at a disadvantage here as a vegetarian - but I also believe it's a big world and people have free choice.

But why in the 20th century with supermarkets, farm stands and the like would a presumably civilized person do this - with a popcorn popper no less?

I suppose we should be grateful he is in a political career and didn't pursue a culinary one. If he had morphed into the male Martha Stewart or Rachael Ray a lot of us would have had to head for the hills.

Still, I don't know what is in worse taste - the way he felt about squirrel or the way I feel about his candidacy.

The color of spring's squirrels

At about this time of year, when we are halfway through winter, people start thinking that soon they'll be trading snow's white for spring's green. At least that's how it is here in the Northeast.

In Brevard, N.C., however, folks stick with white, right up through May. And it's not because of unseasonally late snow storms.

This is the fifth year of that community's White Squirrel Festival. I've never been to it - in fact I have never even been to a Gray Squirrel Festival or a Black Squirrel Festival - but you can be sure the whole town goes (appropriately) nuts.

What's extra nice is that this year's festival is occurring within the Chinese New Year of the Rodent (or the Rat, to be more precise).

For some squirrels, it doesn't get much better than this!

Groundhog envy??

As the great entertainer, Jimmy Durante, used to say "everybody wants to get into the act."

An excerpt from the web site, news.scotsman.com, below - and this sweet photograph above, which appeared there - has me convinced that Groundhog envy is all the rage. The web site reports that this squirrel, a souslik, is a prognosticating Eurasian ground squirrel valued by the local zoo.

And you can easily see why this little creature is prized. Apparently too, like so many of the souslik's American cousins, it is also threatened with a shrinking population.

Here is the excerpt from the article that accompanied the photo:

Edinburgh Zoo's resident weather experts are a family of European sousliks, a type of ground squirrel and close relatives of the groundhog.And on Saturday the animals decided it was too cold to even emerge from their burrow – which is being taken as a sign the recent cold snap is set to continue.The US is also in for a long winter after Punxsutawney Phil, which featured in the hit movie Groundhog Day starring Bill Murray, emerged on Saturday and saw his shadow.

Edinburgh's version might not attract crowds as large as those that gather in Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania every year. But Graham Catlow, animal department manager at Edinburgh Zoo, said the sousliks' predictions would become a regular attraction."We've had them for 18 months, but I don't think anyone was really aware of this last year," he said. "This year the weather was just too cold so they decided to stay in bed, which is probably a pretty good sign that we are in for some more bad weather."

Six more weeks of winter!

Punxsutawney Phil has spoken.

OK, he's a cousin, not a conventional "squirrel," and his meteorological message was interpreted by humans, rather than transmitted by from word-of-rodent-mouth delivery. But he has told us six more weeks of winter and we obedient humans had best bundle up for the duration.

Groundhog Day finds its roots in old German tradition but its draw has somehow survived, and flourished, in the New World. Out west, we now have Prairie Dog
Day, honoring yet another squirrel cousin - this one, an endangered variety.

Does anyone suspect that the manufacturers of winter outerwear perhaps sponsor these Groundhog Day events, a true celebration of winter, with each outerwear company bribing their own local prognosticators (we have them in New York too), hoping to make a killing in late-season parka and snow boot sales?

Nah. Me neither. I'm cynical but I'm not quite that jaded. Not yet anyway.

I think it's great that this tradition endures, and has even evolved into something new in the western states - a plea for prairie dog preservation. This turns an old European superstition about a big burrowing squirrel into a plea for environmental awareness out West and protection of an imperiled animal.

Meanwhile, it's still winter. And it will be for a while. But we can look forward to a bright new season nonetheless, one of Increased Squirrel Awareness coming out of the shadows.

Scream for the squirrels!

Once again, the Super Bowl features an ad that focuses on squirrels. Fans will remember previous campaigns, including the famous "Running with the Squirrels," a high-tech company produced during a game a few years ago. Then there was the Trident chewing gum commercial in which a squirrel bit a dentist in a particularly, uh, sensitive nether-region spot.

This year, a Bridgestone tire commercial has decided to put Bushytails in the spotlight. Here is an excerpt from an article in Ad Age, the industry publication:

"The marketer's first Super Bowl commercial, which will air during the break between the first and second quarters, is dubbed "Scream" and shows how Bridgestone tires can keep a motorist from squishing a squirrel on the road. Shane Altman is the art director, and Mike Bales is the copywriter."

Not sure I like the idea of squirrels in peril on the road - and the magazine could have opted for a verb other than the slapstick "squish" in that description. I wasn't all that thrilled when I heard that a similarly imperiled squirrel appeared in the now-famous GEICO insurance commercial (in both instances the squirrel does survive, I happily note.)

But the suspense will be killing me, nonetheless.

And I do know this - while most folks will be screaming either for the Giant's Eli Manning or the Patriots' Tom Brady, I will find myself once again screaming for the squirrels.