From Here: Observing the Natural World

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ The Trouble With Naming Squirrels ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I feed peanuts to my backyard squirrels to keep them away from the bird feeders.

That’s the theory, anyway.

It does keep them busy for a while. It does prevent them from emptying the feeders on a daily basis.

Mostly, though, my peanut feeding is a source of entertainment, especially during the winter.

I enjoy watching the squirrels scurry around me, at a distance, as I throw out the peanuts. Later, from the house, I see some of them grab the peanuts, then sit on their haunches and munch them. Others disappear to parts unknown to bury them or enjoy them in solitude.

Sometimes I know exactly where they’ve gone. When Paul finishes using a stack of firewood, there are always peanuts and shells tucked among the bottom logs and strewn on the ground.

The best moments are when one of the squirrels comes up to me for a treat. I was so charmed when the first fuzzy rodent approached me that I named him Owen.

He came running up to me several times over the course of the month. At least, I think it was him. How would I really know? As Paul likes to say, the squirrels don’t wear name tags.

Then, just as suddenly, Owen stopped coming.

I was sad, but told myself that he, in his squirrel way, had moved on. He had probably started a family in a nearby yard.

When, a few weeks later, a squirrel ran up, looked up at me and accepted a peanut a foot from my feet, I was pleased. But I did not name him. Or her.

I have since decided that “my” squirrels move through my life the way they move through the yard—quickly, lightly, and without much regard for any attempts to keep track of them.

These days, I’ve made my peace with the arrangement. I toss the peanuts. The squirrels  come and go. We share a moment, and that is enough.

This morning, a little guy approached me tentatively. I threw a peanut at my feet, but he didn’t come any closer. Then he snapped up the one I threw about two feet away. He sat up on his haunches, just adorable.

I noticed he was missing some fur around his middle. Maybe I should call him “Scruff.”

Then again, maybe not. 

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