Lessons From a Squirrel - Part 1

A squirrel follows us on a dog walk.

OK, so... Every night, it has become part of the routine to go for a dog walk. Our dog, Murphy, jumps in the truck with me and we set off on our evening ritual. We close up caterpillar tunnels, lock the greenhouse, tuck in chickens and plants for the night and set off on a stroll to wind down the day.

This past week, I believe it was Monday, we were on the early side. I had planned on doing a project before bed when we got home so I got a head start on the mandatory walk. (Murphy is very good at guilt-tripping if you try and skip a night walk—his second of the day—and I try to avoid the shame.)

It was still light out when we came around a bend in the path. Something over my shoulder caught my eye and I looked back. It was a baby squirrel, fit-in-your-palm-size small, with another one just behind it. They stumbled out of the grass onto the walkway, stopped and stared up at me, as if to pose for a picture.

"Oh, that's cute," I thought.

I took out my phone and got a couple shots and off I went on my way. The baby squirrels had other plans. They followed us, first at a walk, then a jog. Murphy, somehow, thankfully, hadn't spotted them yet. They were tiny after all.

"This is weird," I thought, now starting to get concerned. I needed to get away from them. One, so they didn't get lost from where they came from. And two, so the dog didn't see what I was seeing and they became an appetizer for the kibble waiting in his bowl at home.

In a harried decision, I thought the best course of action was to beat a hasty retreat. Murphy and I sprinted. As fast and as far as it took for their little legs and spirits to give up on trying to follow us.

When we were clear enough away I looked back to see them stopped, the one in front watching us disappear, the one behind looking to its sibling with worry. They were lost.

In the time it took to finish our walk, I had researched on my phone what the heck that encounter was all about. In short, no, this is not normal behavior. Duh. They were lost. Orphaned most likely.

Wildlife experts refer to orphaned squirrels that follow humans as "pant tuggers." They don't know enough to fear humans or larger animals. So, in search of food and warmth, they follow and even climb up onto you. A last desperate plea.

The weather forecast was scheduled to get below freezing that night. By the time Murph and I got back to the truck it was already pretty chilly. It was getting dark now, too. As we sat there and I started the engine, I thought, "Well, that's nature. Best not to interfere." And, "Their mom has likely already rounded them up. She's probably reading them a bedtime story right now and scolding them for running off on their own. Yeah, I'm sure they're just fine."

But, of course, my conscience got the better of me.

Looking back, it was like that scene in No Country For Old Men, when Llewelyn is lying in bed thinking about the man he left stranded in the desert, with no "agua." He can't sleep, gets out of bed, fills a gallon jug with water and sets off into the night to find him.

Crap. I was having a Llewelyn moment.

I drove over to where we left the squirrels, found them shivering in the middle of the path, tossed them a Tupperware tote and drove home with them.

Great. Now what?

To be continued…

—John