“Hi Honey. Have you seen Blackie yet?” I asked walking into the house. I dropped my bag beside the foyer table and headed for the kitchen.
“Hi Sweetie. Yes, she just scurried off with the peanut I gave her. Told her you’d be home in a minute. She’ll be back. She knows your car from a mile away.”
“It does look that way sometimes.” I grabbed a handful of nuts and by the time I returned to the entrance, our cute black squirrely friend was sitting there, waiting for me by the door.
She had adopted us; we had adopted her. Our property was her exclusive territory and she fearlessly chased away any usurpers who so much as dared to lay a forepaw on any part of it. She was the tiny welcoming committee who happily greeted us at the end of each day.
“Come on Blackie,” I said walking down our entrance steps. The little imp followed, much like a puppy, heeling beside me. Together we ambled over to the huge gnarly Scotch pine that grew in our front lawn. I dropped the peanuts by the grey trunk and Blackie scampered up to them. She immediately began sniffing through her bounty. I’m sure she did a count before carting them off, one or two at time to some unknown destination in one of our neighbours’ lawns.
But why am I telling you this story? It’s because we discovered that our little urchin had a chummy side to her. She was partial to human companionship.
All summer long, whenever I was out in the yard weeding the flower beds, Blackie would stretch herself out on the grass beside me and keep an eye on things. When I finished and got up to leave, so did she.
Evenings were extra special for me because that is when Blackie and I sat together on the porch and relaxed. Every night I’d settle comfortably into my lounge chair to read a book. Every night my fur-ball friend joined me. She lay spread-eagled beside me. I never offered her any peanuts and she never asked for any; we just de-stressed silently, keeping each other company until twilight turned to dusk. As if on cue, Blackie would get up, stretch, look up at me, swish her bushy tail and wander off to her nest. I would close my book and go indoors.
The Carrot Ranch May 18th Flash Fiction Challenge was to write a story in 99 words (no more, no less) that features a squirrel. The prompt lead me immediately to Blackie. She’s the only semi-wild or wild animal that Hubby and I have ever befriended.
She gave us so many memories that year. Hubby and I were talking about her over wine the other night.
“Remember the time I was sitting outside and she jumped on out picnic table and started kuking, chattering and shaking all over?” I asked.
“I do. Something had clearly upset her.”
“It had, hadn’t it? She went on for quite a while.”
“And then scampered off once she got a verbal pat on the back from us.”
“That’s right. And remember the time when…”
What a squirrel – who knew they could be so human, at times.
(So much for 99 words this week. 😌 )