It was a cooler morning than most of late and I and my faithful canine companion were making our way through the meadows and woods. Much to the disappointment of Leroy, there was not a squirrel in sight. Nor had there been. It was after ten o’clock for Pete’s sake. I pondered as we went along. Were they sleeping in because it was Sunday? Or, were they all gathered in some secret place of worship, or, perhaps squir-ship? Maybe they were absent due to the wet and falling snow. But they come equipped with humongous tufty tails built just so to hunker down under on such days as these.
Leroy and I soldiered on. Eleven o’clock came and went. Suddenly Leroy paused, one paw raised and curled. I stopped to watch. The poodle broke his point as the squirrel-come-lately took to his heels tree-ward bound. He made it to safety but his excited chatter rustled up his sleepy kinfolk and others were spotted from then on.
So now I wonder, who is their PR agent? In most circles, it’s a given that they, the squirrels are industrious creatures. Where did that myth originate? Or is it true, except on the odd cold and snowy Sunday?
