They take different routes in getting there, because there is (surprisingly, perhaps) a lot to think about when it comes to squirrels. For instance, I have learned in the last two and a half years that you can tell the seasons just by watching the squirrels. Within the last few weeks, I've noticed that the squirrels are starting to look awfully chunky. This means winter is just around the corner. And when you realize that the squirrels are skinny again, it means spring is on the way. I never noticed it before I came to Michigan, probably because I was too young to be that observant in Colorado, and the squirrels in California don't exactly need to store up for the long hard winter, and there aren't a whole lot of squirrels in Provo.
Which leads to a second thing to think about. I have lived around squirrels for most of my life, but even though squirrels are a natural part of the surroundings in such diverse places as Colorado and southern California and Michigan, they are apparently not native to the entire United States. I remember being with a friend once, several years ago, when she said, "Look, it's a squirrel!" And I was a bit baffled by her excitement because, after all, it was just a squirrel. And yet, if you haven't grown up around squirrels, and apparently a fair number of people have not, it's no wonder seeing a squirrel would be an exciting event. I guess it's a bit like going to New Delhi and getting excited about seeing the monkeys that, there, are prolific nuisances.
Despite having grown up with squirrels, though, I still meet with surprises every now and then. One thing I had never encountered before moving out here (besides the bulking up for the winter thing) were black squirrels. Most squirrels I meet on my walk to campus from my car are of the standard gray-brown variety, but in parks and nature areas I have occasionally encountered a black squirrel. I also remember seeing a few of these in Central Park on my trip to New York last year. I don't care much for the black squirrels. They seem oddly sinister, and I've often wondered how they fit into the squirrel community, if they're welcomed or shunned or feared. Do squirrels pay attention to each other's colors? There aren't very many black squirrels around - do other squirrels notice that something's not quite right when they meet in the woods?
I also think about squirrels when I'm out and about in my car. When I was learning to drive, my dad had to instruct me not just how to brake and park and handle sharp turns, but also how to deal with the wildlife in La Crescenta. When I screeched to a halt for a bird in the road, he told me not to worry about the birds. They would always get out of the way, and there was no need to even slow down for them. I'm still not sure I completely trust that advice, but I haven't killed a bird yet. Squirrels, on the other hand, are another matter entirely. Not only will they not get out of the way, but they will run out directly in front of your car, and then stop and stare at you as you come barreling towards them. I have never actually witnessed a squirrel being hit, but I've seen (and been involved in) many a close call, and have seen the sad results of calls that came a little too close.
Which leads me, at last, to where these thoughts always lead me. One of my earliest and most formative memories from childhood involves squirrels. Or a squirrel. I wonder if Eric and Sean remember this - I don't think I've ever asked. In fact, I don't know that I've ever actually talked about this with my family, though I've told the story for friends, and I wonder if that's why I've had such difficulty moving on, why every squirrel I see triggers the traumatic memory.
This happened in Colorado, one evening while we were eating dinner. I'm not sure how old I was - older than three and younger than six. It was no different from any other family dinner at first. We were sitting around the table in the dining area, by windows that looked outside to our backyard. Maybe I was drinking milk from the favored crayon cup. And suddenly, there was a loud BANG!, like a gunshot. I'm sure I didn't think it was a gunshot - I was too young and sheltered. But it was loud and entirely unexpected and it terrified me.
It turns out a squirrel had run across the power lines in our backyard and had been electrocuted. For years I assumed that it had run across an exposed power line, but when I read the section on birds and power lines in The World Without Us I finally learned what really happened. Apparently power lines are completely safe for animals, so long as they only touch one power line at a time. If they touch two power lines, or a power line and a ground, this allows the electricity to flow through them, and BAM! The squirrel explodes.
I didn't actually see the squirrel explode, but I heard it, and I saw the exploded squirrel. It was not a pretty sight. I remember seeing pink foam and feeling an immense and sort of sickening sadness for the poor creature which had no idea what had hit it and was now was not even recognizable as a once-living creature. I also felt very happy that I was a child and not an adult, because it was the adult (well, my dad) who had to actually bury the pieces of squirrel.
For some time after the event, I was afraid of dinnertime. Occasionally I think about children and how adults, with their years of experience, have a difficult time really understanding what a child is thinking, and remembering this event sort of helps me understand children. The fear I felt every time we sat down at the table for dinner was irrational. It was unlikely that another squirrel would explode, or that I would be nearly as surprised by the noise having now experienced it, or that it would happen at dinnertime again. But every time I sat down for dinner I worried and half-waited for the bang. This fear probably didn't last longer than a few weeks, or maybe even a few days, but I still remember it quite vividely.
And I'm really curious about how well the rest of my family remembers this event...
9 comments:
Since you ask, I do remember. However, I remember the squirrel exploding during breakfast--Sunday breakfast, to be exact. And I remember the noise not as a bang but as a zap followed by a shriek (think R2D2 in the first Star Wars). But I remember the aftermath exactly as you do (mmm...squirrel foam).
And for the record, I have seen a squirrel get run over. It was on the Angeles Crest, and I think Dad was in the car with me. Can't remember who was driving, though.
I have managed to hit a bird, although it wasn't with my car. I ran over it with my bike. You'd think there wouldn't be a chance, but there is.
I have managed to avoid the rest of the animal population.
I actually managed to hit a bird with my car. I was stunned--never thought it could happen and it really got to me. I've decided that maybe the bird was mentally handicapped or something ;-)
We had no idea you were so traumatized by the exploding squirrel, though I can see why you would be. It was pretty awful. For the record, I remember it as weekend breakfast too, but that certainly doesn't mean it was and if you were afraid of dinner after that, you're probably right.
The interesting thing about sharing memories that have long since past with people who experienced the same memory is that you sometimes learn what you got wrong. It could very well have been breakfast, even though I'm remembering it as an early dinner. But I'm positive it was a bang, and not a zap followed by a shriek :)
Could someone please confirm the shriek for me?
Sorry, I don't remember the shriek--once again, not to say it didn't happen, I just don't remember it.
From my point of view at the time, it was a shriek : )
I think the standard variety of squirrels is the invasive variety that kicks other squirrels out of the area. I could be wrong, but I'm remembering it from a very funny book, "There's a hair in my dirt", which is hilarious.
Black squirrels are actually the dominant variety in the Ohio town where I grew up. We actually had a "Squirrel Day" holiday during my senior year of high school. A squirrel crawled into a transformer box just outside the school and performed the same connect-the-wires trick you mentioned, which cut off all the power to the school. They were doing construction on the school at the time, so for safety's sake they had to let us all go home early. It was unseasonably warm that day, and there were several hastily-organized pool parties while kids' parents were still t work that quickly became the stuff of legend around the school.
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