The Unfortunate Death of a Heroic Squirrel

Hello. I am a squirrel. I’ve got a poofy tail, four fingers on my front paws and five on my rear paws. A white stripe flows from my chin to my bum. Otherwise, I’m a tannish gray. I like eating seeds and nuts and chittering. I spend my waking hours in trees or on the ground.

I live under the canopy of a great forest. The trees have big leaves, reddish brown bark, and grow high into the sky. I like where I live. The big trees protect me from the a-hole birds with large wings and sharp talons. I still deal with the small a-hole birds. Mostly, I chitter at them and steel their seeds.

On the ground, I have to keep an eye out for foxes and coyotes and the occasional cat. The biggest woodland creature I’ve seen is an elk. I didn’t much like him. He ate all the leaves off of my favorite hiding bush.

I do have a family, but they’re into competing, so I usually avoid them. They always remind me who in the family can hold the most seeds in their cheeks or who buried the most seeds or who had the largest litter. I never feel like I can live up to their expectations.

But I love the forest. There’s only two places I don’t go.

The first is the human village. It is outside of my neighborhood and I’ve never needed to explore so far. The other is much closer to home and where the crows live. They are the a-holiest of birds. They congregate around an old, tumbledown cottage overgrown with vines with plumes of purple and black smoke rising out of its stone chimney. The place has a nasty vibe we creatures of the forest can feel from miles off. I only saw the cottage one time on a dare from a fellow squirrel. Got chased off by the crows. I don’t do dares anymore.

My life is a good one.

Or it was, until I died.

I remember waking the day before. It was a frosty morning. The foxes and coyotes had bedded down and I munched on a nut surrounded by orange and red leaves. Between mouthfuls, I chittered my thanks to the squirrel God, Seedsaplenty.

Crunching from the forest floor caught my attention. Thinking it was one of my elk friends, I stuffed the nut in my cheek and peaked below the canopy. Imagine my surprise to see two humans!

I had never before seen these upright walkers. Of course, I knew what they were even if they were smaller than I imagined they would be, about as tall as a coyote was long. They wore layers of things on the outside of their fur. Like they’d wrapped themselves in leaves. It reminded me of my uncle who liked to eat fallen pears. He would get all wobbly, his chittering would become a sort of chuffing, and eventually he would nap in a bed of leaves. When he woke, bleary-eyed, many of the leaves would stick to his fur and when he stumbled around he looked a lot like these humans. My parents instructed me many times to not be like my uncle.

The female trailed the male, tearing pieces of a brown stump she carried and dropped them repeatedly behind her. The male strode in front of her, swishing a stick from side to side, cutting through spiderwebs or knocking down leaves. When his stick broke, he would select another off the ground or break one off a nearby branch.

I couldn’t tell if they were a mated pair or related. Or whether they were fighting or getting along. Intrigued, I followed them, admiring their bravery in making so much noise. Or perhaps, jealous of their ability to do so.

I noticed the other woodland creatures disappearing down their dens or finding other perches in the wake of the humans stomping below, but I didn’t feel the instinctual threat like I did other predators. Not sure if there was something wrong with me, because I heard many a chittered warnings accompanying the human’s path. A lot of squirrels I respected hid, so why didn’t I?

The humans hadn’t noticed the warnings in the leaves above, or they ignored them, because they continued their loud marching. The female dropped the last crumble of the brown stump she carried and came to a stop. Her and the male had a heated debate, and he looked off into the distance with great regret, before they returned the way they came, the girl pointing out the pieces of the stump she’d torn.

As they padded into the distance, I cautiously climbed down and sniffed the remains of the stumps. It smelled good. I ate it. It was softer than what I was used to, but I enjoyed the novelty of it. Soon, I wasn’t the only one on the ground, many a-hole birds arrived and even a few of my relatives. We devoured the remains of the of the stump in no time. Through mouthfuls of gossip, I learned that they had been young offsprings and not full grown humans.

To everyone’s surprise, the two human children showed up the next day, too! This time, I wasn’t the only one interested in them. Many a-hole birds, squirrels, and even some of my chipmunk neighbors trailed after them.

Both the female and the male carried a brown stump today. At first, only the male tore off pieces of the stump he carried, until his stump was gone. Then the female began tearing pieces of hers.

My forest friends and I followed at a distance, enjoying the strange food the humans left behind. Eventually, I got tired of the crowds and trailed the humans from the branches above, noticing small things that I didn’t the day before.

The female often hummed and walked in a weird, almost hopping like motion. The male performed what I interpreted to be practicing his mating dances with tree stumps or bushes. He swatted them with sticks or jumped on top of them, pumping his arms into the air. Strange beings humans were.

They reached the end of their delicious brown stumps. Once again, the boy looked longingly into the distance. But, they turned around just like the day before. My forest friends scattered as the humans returned the way they’d came.

They didn’t make it far before they stopped, searching the ground. For some reason, they descended into a panic, shouting at each other and running in circles. They pointed in different directions and shouted some more.

Reaching an agreement, or, more like, the male decided which way to go and the female sagged as if under a heavy burden, they headed in a direction different from the way they’d come. Curious, I followed.

They walked until the sun disappeared and the moon rose. The two became far more deer-like. They jumped at the rustling of leaves or the breaking of twigs. They stared wide-eyed all around and when they spoke, it was in soft, hurried whispers.

They had a right to be worried. They had traveled near the crow’s home! From afar, even in the dim light, I spotted a number of those crow a-holes perched on branches.

The crows noticed the children and flew off in the direction of the cottage. I couldn’t help but follow. I knew it was folly and I couldn’t stop my tail from twitching. I became more nervous the closer I got, and hid among dense bushes, gnawing on a seed to calm myself.

Landing on the roof of the cottage, the crows cawed. The door creaked open. A very old female human, one with red eyes and a black cloak shuffled outside. She listened to the caws.

Then she waved a hand in the air and all the crows but one took to the sky, flying entirely away! The one that remained behind screeched and shuddered, then it shrank in size. Its feathers shortened, turning white! Its beak shortened. When it opened its mouth, instead of a caw, it released a pretty birdsong. Then it took off, flying in the direction of the children.

The old female waved her hand again, and her eyes no longer glowed red. Her wrinkles softened. Her nose shortened and all the bumps on her skin shrank until they were gone.

She turned to her house, mumbled something and, with loud cracks and moans the house began to change, too! Broken wood straightened. The vines sprouted bright, wild flowers of many colors. The smoke from the chimney turned pink. The air smelled sweeter.

The woman placed her hands on her hips and cackled. Then cleared her throat. When she laughed again it was softer, warmer. She headed back inside her little cottage.

I had never known a human to have such abilities! Instead of feeling awe at the sight, I shivered and sweated in the bush. It pierced my heart as the utmost strange.

The trill of birdsong returned, and the now-white crow flew around and around the human children, leading them directly to the cottage. They passed by me covered in dirt, twigs and fallen leaves, and wore smiles of relief.

The cottage door opened without creaking, and out walked the old woman. She escorted the timid little ones into the cottage. As soon as they were inside, the old female waved her hand and the smoke changed back to black. She headed inside.

I should have left. I don’t know why I stayed.

It was full dark out, I was a long way from home and in a-hole territory. I smelled and heard a fox in the nearby brush. It may have been tracking me. There was no reason I should help the human children.

I crept to the cottage, careful not to attract any attention from the sleeping a-holes on the roof. Even the fox didn’t follow me. It was as though I headed towards death.

Through a foggy window, I could see the children locked in cages and the old woman dancing happily. A large, black pot in the fireplace bubbled and boiled. Even outside I didn’t like the scent of it. It smelled burnt and rotted.

The children cried, their wails and shouts pulled at my heart. Though I was just a squirrel, I had to do something.

I snuck inside through a crack in the wall, squeezing through as quietly as I could. The ruler of the a-holes hummed over her pot, dumping in what looked like a handful of cat whiskers into its depths.

The children hadn’t seen me and were otherwise occupied trying to open their cages. They were side by side, just large enough for both children to sit within. The male held a thin bone with a look of disgust, and the female stretched for a key that sat outside of her reach.

He handed the bone to the female and she used that to reach far enough. But now the A-holiest ruler turned from her pot, catching the child in the act.

And she also saw me.

Pointing, she roared. I flew into a frenzy.

I ran up her leg and around her shoulders. She swatted at me, screeching as I got caught up in her hair. Her feet stomped in circles, trying to fend me off. She spun with such force, I had to hold on with both my front and rear fingers.

The female child had unlocked her cage and with an almighty leap off the table, kicked the spinning old a-hole in the chest. I let go just as she connected, slamming hard into the wall before collapsing to the floor. The girl was small, and very light, but she did unbalance the larger female enough that she fell backwards and into the large, black pot with a cry.

The old ruler of a-holes screamed as she was covered in the bubbling liquid. The children, now both free of their cages, opened the door and ran off into the night. I struggled to my feet and scampered towards the exit as the ruler a-hole pulled herself out of the pot with a groan.

I almost made it to the great woods, my home, when I cast a look over my shoulder. Standing in the doorway of the cottage, covered in shadow, glowing red eyes locked on mine. I saw the shape of her hand wave in the air.

Pain.

Excruciating pain.

I tumbled as my legs faltered. I collapsed as my limbs quaked. I chittered wildly. I cawed.

Hello. I am a crow. I have a beak, two talons, black feathers, and two beady, black eyes. I am the a-holiest of birds.

And I serve master.