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the baby squirrels lived

the journal of Michael Werneburg

twenty-seven years and one million words

Last weekend, we discovered a squirrel's nest; we wound up with three baby squirrels in a box. I set the box in our bike shelter, which was already piled with last Autumn's leaves, and hoped that the mother would return to the mewling babies.

It looks like she did! Because today I opened up the box for a look, and saw no sign of the babies. There was also no sign of a predator (or scavenging raccoon) having gotten in. Oh happy day. I hope the mum found a safe new nesting site. Not that we need more squirrels around here, but it's been a tough Spring and losing the kids outright would have been tough even if you are just one of the neighborhood's teeming multitude of rodents.

Meanwhile, downstairs in our building, a neighbor is working with our landlady on exterminating the single rat that's on the property. The lessen here: if you flounce around with a bushy tail it doesn't matter if you chew into boxes, destroying books and CD's and boxes of slides. If you slink about with a naked tail, god help you.