SQUIRREL TALES: Chapter 9
by Mary Lee Corlett
PILE THREE: SQUIRREL GAMES
Rainy nights don’t usually
bother me. Even when I was younger I could stay warm and dry all snuggled in
the nest with Nutmeg beside me and Mother nearby, too. But I remember the first time I experienced a
really ferocious storm. I hadn’t known
rain could be like that! There was
booming thunder, and flashing streaks of lightning cracking the night sky, and
lots of wind and a relentless, icy rain that viciously pelted the leafy layers
that were so far managing to protect us from the worst of it. But the scariest part was the angry and
repeated explosions of the Pole Box across the Dodgeway. It hissed and smoked, snarled and fumed like
some primitive, evil, wild thing. Nutmeg
and I huddled together in a synchronized shiver, waiting with sleepless wide
eyes for morning to come and the storm to finally pass.
On rainy days, Hazel and Nutmeg
would find a sturdy branch in the oak or the poplar tree—one well protected
from the weather by a dense cover of leaves. If it were one of those all-day,
penetrating rains, they would sit with their tails curled up over their heads
as an additional shield against the constant drip of water from above. Once
settled in, they would play “Find the Nut.”
This was, of course, a shell game, and they both liked it so well that
they would often play it for several minutes at time! That is, before being distracted by something
else, and then having to start all over again just to keep count. To play, you must hide a small nut or other
juicy bit in an empty hickory nutshell (or sweet gum ball), and then carefully
line up a few dozen other empty casings along the branch. The other player had three chances to “find
the nut.” The first player to find the
other’s nut five times in a row got to eat it.
It was good practice (the finding, that is, but maybe the eating, too)
for the real world.
Hazel glanced down to see that in
the rain Mrs. Tiggy-winkle had taken on a bit of a shine. Her stoic expression, however, remained
unchanged, so if she minded the rain, Hazel couldn’t tell by looking. Hazel liked playing “Find the Nut” but she
was beginning to get a bit bored and wished it would stop raining so they could
do something else. Hazel loved games of
all kinds, particularly the most active ones.
The kind you couldn’t play in a downpour. She sighed.
One of her favorites was “Tree the Cat.”
To win, you must lure the cat the furthest distance up into the canopy.
Bonus points were awarded for those happy, rare occasions when the cat could be
coaxed to climb higher than its comfort zone and then would end up stuck in the
tree for a day or so while it worked on mustering the courage to come back
down. But unfortunately, that game could
be played only when one of the neighborhood cats came around, and that just
wasn’t going to happen in the rain. The
cats hated the rain and were never out in it.
Hazel also loved “Bird Bounce,” the
object of which was to incite the neighborhood’s overly aggressive, dive-bombing
Cardinal into flying head-first at the Boxel’s big picture window. And then
there was “Shadow Dancing,” which involved outmaneuvering your opponent’s
shadow. This was best played at the end
of the day, when the shadows were longest.
But her favorite game, by far, was the 100 Picket Dash, played, of
course, on the fence. It was her
favorite for one simple reason: she always won!
Nutmeg, on the other hand,
especially liked to play practical jokes.
She’d climb out on a limb—one that was sturdy enough to hold her weight,
but just barely—and she’d wait. When one
of the adult squirrels happened by—Mr. Chase or Mrs. Fidgets for example—she
would take a step toward the end of the branch and then begin swaying and bobbing. First to the right—“Whoaa!”—then to the
left—“Yaaahhh!”—then up, then down, arms flailing, tail swishing, as if she
could not catch her balance and was doomed to plunge to the earth below in an
undignified, unsquirrel-like manner.
Mrs. Fidgets would fret, “Oh Dear! Oh Dear!” Mr. Chase would holler
instructions in the futile attempt to help her save herself. But Mother just
shook her head. She was never one to
fall for her daughter’s antics, although she often had to work very hard to
hold back her smile.
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