Our Neighborhood Squirrels Aren’t Always Friendly
Squirrels are a predominant aspect of every neighborhood. I’ve always been fascinated and amazed by their resourcefulness. They’re responsible for the oak trees in our neighborhood and they’re also great chatterers. Most mornings, I can hear them outside my window, their squeak reverberating throughout our quiet home.
Apparently, so can my younger dog, Luna.
My older dog doesn’t really care much for the squirrels. Even in her youth, she wasn’t one to chase them about. Luna, however, gives every squirrel that enters our yard chase. She’s even caught one by the tip of its tail, as evidenced by a tuft of hairs that I found in my driveway last summer. One squirrel in particular seems to have developed a love/hate relationship with Luna. Most mornings, even before I roll out of bed, I can hear the telltale squeak from the backyard, followed by a heartfelt whine from Luna, along with her high-pitched bark that almost begs “Mommy, let me out!”
During the winter months, the same squirrel used to stare into our living room from his safe perch in the tree. This would drive Luna nuts (pardon the pun), for she would proceed to scrape and scratch at the glass door until I relented and allowed her to run outside. Most days, she exited the doorway so quickly, bounding out the door with a resounding bay, that all I could see was a blur of black and tan. It’s become a game of sorts with these two, and I am ever-conscious to steer clear of their antics, mostly because of the speed of my dog, but also because I was bitten in the eyelid by a squirrel years ago.
Our first dog, Cubby, was an infamous squirrel hunter. She had heard a commotion on our rooftop, and I let her out to investigate. I was also in the process of hanging laundry from my back porch, when I felt something land on my head.
Two squirrels, in the midst of what I can safely classify a brawl, were clawing wildly at each other in the strands of my hair. Staggering, I wobbled as my head felt heavy from their weight, and I tried to swat them away. One leapt from my head and ran off, while the other reached down with both paws and sunk his teeth into my eyelid. Throughout this entire ordeal, my dog was standing there, barking her head off. When the damage had been done, the agile rodent jumped off my head and scampered up a nearby tree, my dog in hot pursuit. It must have been quite a sight.
Because squirrels aren’t vector carrying animals, I didn’t require a series of rabies injections, but did require a tetanus vaccine at the emergency room where I had been working. I became known by colleagues as “Squirrel Eye.” To this day, one of my very dear friends makes it a point to yearly send me a birthday card with a squirrel on it in tribute to the hilarity. It’s a running joke around here, but I am also aware of how very lucky I was, not to have lost my sight.
Gardening season is upon us, and we’re prepared to hold the squirrels off with our stockpile of cayenne and garlic powder. Although I’m grateful for wildlife’s presence in our yard, I’m ever mindful of the squirrel’s ability to inflict damage, especially whenever I apply my mascara. I think Luna knows that I’m writing about her arch nemesis, because she’s giving me a glazed-over stare as she rests her head upon my keyboard. And I’m secretly delighted.
