Squirrels!

On the weekend I bought birdseed on impulse, the crap kind that includes all the things that grackles love to eat, so that the smaller and more timid birds never brave the birdfeeder. But it was $6 and we have spots for four birdfeeders in the backyard, so I figured, what the hell?

Rather than brave the snow out to the birdfeeders, though, I put a little bit in a plastic bowl and left it on the deck. This morning (when we all should have been at work but were too busy emptying our lungs into our sinks to be able to get dressed or drive) I saw squirrels eating seeds scattered all over the deck.

"Frances!" I said. "Come here! There are squirrels!"

She ran over. "Squirrels!" she shouted, and banged on the glass. They scattered, and slowly crept back.

"You need to be quiet and still, Frances. Squirrels scare easily. Be very still and they will come close and eat the seed."

So she sat in my lap and I sat on the floor near the kitchen door, and we watched the squirrels eating the seeds, their small hands bringing bit after bit to their mouths, their small sharp teeth scattering seed shells like shrapnel, then tucking their paws against their stomachs to warm them, tails to the wind. At one point we had four black squirrels on our deck at one time, tackling each other, chasing each other, stuffing their cheeks full of seeds, and on at least one occasion demonstrating to Frances the facts of life at an inappropriately early age.

"Squirrels!" said Frances. "Awwwww! They're so cuuuuuute. Look at the squirrels, Mummy! Look at them. Awwwwww. He's BEAUtiful."

"Do you see their little hands, Frances?"

"Yeah!"

"And look at the big black eyes and the little black nose."

"It's BEAUtiful."

"Yes, it is!"

"And look at the mouth!"

"Yes, he's eating."

"He's eating. He's eating pasta!"

"No, he's eating seeds."

"He's eating chicken!"

"No, baby, he's eating seeds. Squirrels eat seeds and nuts."

"The squirrel climbing the fence! The squirrel climbing the tree!"

"You're right, he is."

"I go outside! I play in a snow! I climb a tree!"

"No, baby. Not until summer."

"I play with a squirrel!"

And so on.

Later, I had her help me scatter more seed on the deck. This was an exercise that demanded some time to ponder the seeds in the hand, contemplate the correct tossing angle, and then dump most of them on the kitchen floor. Which I then scooped up and tossed out, as much as I could, anyhow; the tiny yellow ones were unscoopable. But that was ok, because Frances enjoyed stepping on them and saying, "I got something on my foot, Mummy." Then she would sit down and pick them off, inspecting each one. Seeds! So Fascinating! Who knew?

Anyway. The squirrels came back, at all the seeds, then chased each other up the trees at the back of the yard. Frances stood by the door, hands held out to each side of her face: "SQUIRRELS!" she shouted. "SQUIRRELS! COME BACK! ARE YOU ON THE DECK? ARE YOU CLIMBING THE FENCE? SQUIRRELS! SQUUUUIRRELLLS!!!"

All day.

ALL DAY.

For thirty minutes before we had supper, we had the following conversation.

"I give food a squirrels, Mummy!"

"Daddy's making spaghetti, baby girl. Why don't we feed the squirrels after supper?"

"Daddy's making pasghettis."

"Yes."

"I give food a squirrels, Mummy!"

She is truly, madly in love with the squirrels.

As an added bonus, it kept her away from the television.

Posted by Andrea at February 22, 2006 9:10 AM under Beanie Baby Brags

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