Don’t tell me animals don’t have a sense of humor or personality. I know better. I admit that I may be a bit prejudice and definitely a bit anthropomorphic when it comes to dogs, cats, and horses. But I am talking about a wild animal here.

I first became acquainted with Freddy Cruger’s pet squirrel early one morning when I shuffled to the door to let my two dogs outside for their morning ablutions. Neither one of my small, wire haired, pampered pooches is of any particular hunting stock. Small little furry or running things, like lizards or cats or squirrels, pose as an interesting amusement, but nothing serious.

On this particular morning, there was a slight mist to the near dawn air. It was quiet, peaceful. The few birds awake were gently twittering their soft melodies. My little darlings started down the front steps when suddenly a small, fat grey-brown piece of fur with a bushy tail, was missing a clump of bush or two, scurried down the telephone pole which stood just outside of the fenced yard. It began shouting spiteful little squirrel curses and challenges to the top of its little rodent lungs, flicking that scruffy bush of a tail the whole time. My protectors of the household, their need for morning pit stops forgotten, charged this interloper, to be stopped short by the bounds of the fence. The invader scurried about half way up the telephone pole, just as a precaution I would imagine. He turned his agile body head downward, gazing with malicious mischief at his taunted pursuers.

Assuming bilinguality of the two species, many invectives were exchanged. The dogs were leaping at the fence, running their short gauntlet of incarceration, daring said rodent to come within reach. All the while, the Crueger-pet flitted up and down the pole. Soon, the smaller of my canines decided it was maybe too much trouble to take on prey which she could not reach and she abandoned the battle. However, the larger of my companions continued at the fence for awhile longer. Then, feigning boredom, she sat with her back to the fence, appearing to peacefully contemplate the inner sanctum of the yard, totally ignoring the small beastie on the pole. It was too much for the squirrel. In a short while, it left the safety of the pole, ran toward the fence, bounced off of it, and ran around to the underside of my car, parked just outside the fence. There was once again a flurry of vocal activity from both sides. After a bit, the bushy tailed interlopper seemed to tire of the game. Up the pole it went, across the wires and into the surrounding trees. I could almost make out a grin on its face.

During most of that summer, this game occurred over and over. Sometimes the telephone pole and car were the locale, but, it seemed, the squirrel got more innovative with time, using telephone wires, trees, roof tops, or just a quick jaunt up the middle of road. I could swear that some of its chittering was laughter. Yet, just as in us humans, with consistent success, without attention to one’s surroundings, there develops a commodity of complacency. Late that summer, the tormentor squirrel was gathering nuts and such in the small field across from my house. It’s small furry comrades, not quite as brave, or foolish, as this little fellow, began to chitter, bark, and cough in their little squirrel language. “Danger! Danger!” Others on the ground took heed, streaking for the safety of the trees, but not my furry friend. And even though I shouted, waved my arms, and tried my best to also warn it, the cat prevailed. The last I saw of the jocular bushy tailed fur ball was the cat dragging its still struggling form under the bushes.

In the playfulness of its nature there seemed to have been a joy of life. It seemed to say, “No guts, no glory ! Laugh today! Life is good!” It had also awakened two canines, so tamed that the wolf instincts were all but dead. From that little grey jokster came the message that they were still predators deep in their souls. I was truly sad to see its demise.

Recently, as I let my two canine companions outside, I noticed a tiny, young bushy tailed grayish-brown rodent, walking along the telephone wires. It reached the middle of the wire’s expanse, gave a jump, and, from the roof top, seemed to be chattering at the dog several houses down from me. It almost sounds like laughter. Could this be the off spring of the Crueger’s pet ? Or maybe, just maybe, one of the others has dared to be truly alive.

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