Saturday 14 July 2007

Wick, the Determined Squirrel Hunter


Sunday afternoon, I decided to have a few relaxing, lazy hours with a book I just can’t keep my nose out of. Because I work at home, I make myself leave my office, and go to our bedroom to read, adjusting the pillows just so, and turning on my side so I can look outside the patio doors to the woods outside.


I am soon engrossed in the latest chapter and forget about the world around me. That is, until some bizarre screeching noise interrupts my Manhattan adventure and pulls me back to Carleton Place.

Living in the wilds of Lanark County, most noises go unnoticed; as they are part of the landscape and every day experience of living out here. However, something outside was really angry. I give an exasperated sigh and put my book down, rolling on my stomach to gaze out the door.

And there she is. Our brave little cat, more than a year old now, swishing her tail in the tall grass at the edge of the lawn, looking up into a sparse oak tree. But she isn’t the one making the noise.
Our sweet little hunter has a giant mutant black squirrel screaming at her from half way up the tree. The squirrel isn’t scared, it’s mad, and it’s giving Wick a stern talking to.

Wick isn’t interested. To show her impatience with lectures, she runs half way up the same tree as the scary squirrel, sending the monstrous black thing twenty feet higher in the tree, shrieking the whole time.

I’m sure my chorus of ‘good kitty, you GO Wick!’ didn’t help matters, but I have a thing against these bizarre Canadian squirrels. They are like climbing black Chihuahuas with furry tails. They are bigger than squirrels I’m used to, and not nearly as cute. So if our cat wants to run one off our property or make it a play thing, I’m okay with that.

My book is forgotten. I have to see how this turns out.

Wick climbs a few more feet and decides to sit and wait on the roof of a bird feeder nailed to the tree. This sends the squirrel into a frenzy, jumping from tree to tree, hanging from branches, screaming the whole time.

Eventually Wick grows tired of the game, and leaves her perch. She follows the squirrel’s progress from tree to tree for a few moments, and gives one loud meow up into the tree before moving on, twitching her tail again in a disdainful dismissal.

I’m hoping the squirrel is moving to another part of the forest, because I’m sure that Wick told that rat-looking thing that it is not welcome in her yard. And, if it decided to stay, its squirrel days would be numbered, and will soon become nothing more than a squirrel flavoured snack.

After all, Wick’s count is up to seven moles and five mice. By the way she stalks that squirrel, it’s only a matter of time and determination.