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| A campus squirrel, photo taken by author |
Yesterday morning during a walk I came across a squirrel. Admittedly this is not unusual. As is the case with most squirrel encounters, this particular rascal was on a tree at the time of our meeting. He (or she) was at just below my eye level and had stopped to observe me. As is my want, I in turn, stopped to look at the animal, me being a long-time squirrel fancier. It should here be noted that your typical squirrel will usually give a human a few second long look -- if that -- before scurrying (squirrels are great ones for scurrying) on its way. But this one held its ground — so to speak. Said squirrel was watching me as if with great curiosity. It showed no fear.
I tested the waters and moved a few inches closer to the squirrel which I’ll heretofore refer to as Kelly (a name chosen because of its suitability for both males and females). This is the point where you can pretty much guarantee that a wild animal will take flight — save perhaps a bengal tiger and other large carnivores which might instead initiate pursuit. In any event Kelly didn’t move a muscle. I risked inching yet a bit closer. At last Kelly, shall we say, blinked. But even at that s/he did not flee. Instead Kelly merely made her/his way around to the other side of the tree and continued observing me only now from a different angle.
This was most curious.
I again moved a few inches closer to my furry friend. (I should here insert that I talked to Kelly the entire time, asking after her/his health, recent activities and what s/he thought of the stand-off we were in.) I should further add that at no point did Kelly respond, the power of speech not among this remarkable squirrel's skillset. Surely now, I thought, the squirrel will bid me adieu. But no, Kelly held firm. Much to my astonishment Kelly not only did not depart the premises but leaned forward as if in attempt to smell me.
Here in Berkeley one is used to aggressive squirrels on the university campus where they are notorious moochers. Campus squirrels (as they are known) have learned two things: humans are no real threat, humans often offer snacks to cute four-legged creatures. But this was not a campus squirrel. Our encounter took place on a leafy Berkeley street in a leafy Berkeley neighborhood. In terms of squirrel-human encounters this might as well have been on a lonely peak in the Sierra Nevadas. So Kelly’s boldness was surprising.
I greatly regretted that I didn’t happen to have any walnuts in my pockets. I had nothing to offer but my friendship. Squirrels prefer nuts.
Inevitably Kelly realized there were no snacks forthcoming and s/he’d seen and heard as much of me as could possibly be of interest. My friend at last departed — but not hurriedly, mind you. It was as if Kelly had other matters to attend to. For that matter, so did I.
Now twenty-four hours later I wonder at the odds of meeting Kelly again. I may take another stroll down the same street, this time with treats on hand. Maybe a friendship can develop. Who knows?
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Saturday last I attended the third birthday of my youngest grandniece. Upon arriving (we were first on the scene) most other adults paid their respects to the honoree and then left her to her own devices which principally entailed playing with her peers. Some I’m sure never did acknowledge her, merely dropping their gift in a pile then finding a fellow adult to chat with, later joining in the singing of happy birthday but otherwise not giving a thought to the birthday girl. I saw one bloke arrive late and immediately head for friends not offering so much as a how-do-you to the person whose birth we were celebrating.
Such it is with so many social occasions. Weddings, retirement parties, memorial services et al are often excuses for old friends and relatives to gather and chat heedless of the occasion. In Saturday’s case the little cherub’s birthday was the raison d’être for people to see one another and catch up.
Of course I bantered a bit with my nephews and select others but also made a point of hanging with grandniece who I (with the missus) often babysit and have an excellent relationship with.
I like toddlers. They’re not trying to convince you of anything. They don’t bullshit you and only offer the most obvious of lies. If they exaggerate it’s clearly for effect. They’re not trying to sell you anything. They don’t argue over politics or sports. Best of all they like to have fun, are generally amusing and easily amused. They like hugs and running about aimlessly. They also tend to be incredibly cute and laugh easily and heartily. Sure they’re prone to crying, often over trivial matters, but they don’t then sink into depression. It's as if at a young age they realize that life is too short for that sort of nonsense.
I was a toddler myself once though I remember little of those days. I know from old photographs that I was particularly cute. I’ve been told I was especially playful and fun. It was a good time in life, free from responsibilities. There was so much to discover. Everything was taken at face value. People are nice to you when you’re a wee one. You’re held, can sit on laps and are constantly complimented. Meals are provided. You’re not expected to do any chores. You’re often the center of attention but can take naps in the middle of the day without judgments.
It’s better than being a baby when you can’t walk, don’t have words and are incontinent. It’s better than being school age when suddenly you’re confined to a schoolroom for several hours a day for most of the year. There you are forced to learn what you’re told not what you’re necessarily interested in.
Then, of course, you enter your teens and face all the attendant woes, struggles, complications and worries. No the toddler years are the best.
I’ve got to remember to tell grandniece the next time I see her.
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