Squirrels
scamper everywhere through our woods—usually silently. On occasion, one will
scold the cat or the dog—as it hangs upside down from a branch or tree trunk,
tail twitching, chattering away noisily, chastising its enemy, its eyes glued
on its target. Squirrels may even bombard us human ground-bound critters with
acorns—demonstrating their disdain for us.
One recent
evening while reposing in the outdoor tub, I heard a squirrel-like chattering,
a short distance into the woods. It did not sound like their usual scolding or
babbling, but more like a warning or a threatening noise—a deeper, growl-like
sound. It continued for several seconds, as my eyes scanned the trees, trying
to locate the source of the ruckus.
Finally I
spotted two squirrels up on a tree branch, nearly nose to nose—as if in a macho
face-off. The lower squirrel had its back to a nest and it seemed to be the
noisemaker. The higher squirrel suddenly turned and retreated up the limb, as the
lower one then returned to the nest. The upper squirrel quickly returned, came
within a foot or so of the nest, made an in-your-face chipping sound, and
quickly withdrew back up the limb. It leapt to another tree and disappeared to
safety—having bravely delivered its parting shot.
What was
happening? A fight for the nest? Some kind of territorial battle? A parent
booting its offspring out of the nest? A sexual jousting? I will probably never
know. Quiet returned to the area, as I sank back into the hot healing waters.
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