Bombardier Squirrel

We have experienced a weird phenomenon several times now in the fall—so I'm beginning to believe that it’s not just coincidental. We have a squirrel that bombs us—or rather the cat—with acorn particles, as we do tai chi in the evening. It was, at first, a little hard to believe; I thought that it might be an accident, but it's repeated itself nearly half a dozen times now. I think the squirrel has learned to be a joyful bombardier.

My mate and I do our tai chi routine each clement evening, on a little runway that I built just above a little stream behind the house. It's a wonderful place to do tai chi. It is back in the trees, so on hot summer days it's nicely shaded. The elevated runway gives one a great vantage point, from which to survey the domain, as we very slowly and meditatively twirl and spin through the movements.

Animal sounds provide a pleasant background to the meditative process—with birds singing, crickets chirping, woodpeckers rapping on hollow branches, hawks screeching, squirrels chattering, blue jays screaming, Canada geese honking, the wind breezing, and cicadas zinging—depending on the time of year. Unfortunately, we sometimes also get exposed to airplanes droning overhead, distant dogs incessantly barking, noisy trucks on distant roads, neighbors target practicing—but these distractions really give us the opportunity to develop a little more equanimity during the meditative practice.

The dog and cat accompany us—lying serenely nearby and lazily picking up on the good vibes, as we do our routine. The intelligent dog senses just when we are done, as she jumps up to greet us and congratulate us on yet another day of gathering the benefits of universal energy. The cat just lies among the leaves nearby, immobile, watching for errant birds that might be a wee bit inattentive and vulnerable to seizure.

A squirrel likes to gambol in one of those overhead oaks. It is very sassy. It looks down (literally) upon us, knowing that the cat could quickly dispatch it, but also knowing that high up in its tree, it is quite safe from this nasty feline. The squirrel shows its sass by berating the cat, loudly and lengthily. It scolds and taunts him, as if jeering and daring him to come up and try to catch him. Its racket can threaten our concentration and cause us to chuckle.

In the fall acorns begin to sprout on the oaks that shade us. The squirrel seems to have had the insight that acorns make very nice missiles to drop on a cat, so it bombs away. The cat’s eyes become glued to the squirrel, as it casually proceeds to pluck an acorn and chew off pieces that it deftly drops upon its attentive foe below. In the meantime, we valiantly carry on with our tai chi, trying to ignore the sound of acorn particles pelting the forest floor around us, or trying not to look at the cat and chuckle and loose our place, as we watch him ducking the tiny bombs.

Tai chi is supposed to be a mindful, meditative routine; during which we (try to) single-mindedly assume one of 108 sequential positions, in which we can easily screw up, if our attention gets diverted. (That's a good reason to do it with a partner. When one of us loses concentration and messes up, the other may get you back on track.) It can be very distracting (but hilarious) when a squirrel drops little acorn bombs from above, as it delights in pestering your cat. It’s just one more kind of challenge in learning the Chinese gentle martial arts outdoors.