The irresistible Sciurus carolinensis

            One of my writing spaces looks into the woods that stand directly behind our house. It’s full of oak, cherry and birch trees, and teeming hordes of chipmunks and squirrels.

            Also the occasional coyote, bear, deer or bobcat, but they’re infrequent visitors. The dominant species in charge of the woodland are squirrels. Since this year we’ve had the biggest crop of acorns in Connecticut history, there are a lot of those guys out there, and conditions promise to produce even more. It’s rodent heaven.

            Squirrels are the least appreciated of our Northeastern wildlife.

            They‘re often called “The Common Grey Squirrel.” Only common because they’re so successful, more than any other mammal in the neighborhood aside from the homo sapiens looking at them through the window. I also think their behavior is anything but commonplace. I know this because when I’m not working on my computer, I’m watching the squirrels.

            Their industry is phenomenal.

            They leap through the leaves and root around the forest floor with unabated enthusiasm. Their forepaws may not be hands, technically, but they hold things like I do, and munch on acorns the way kids attack an apple. However, I can’t use my hands to climb a tree, balance on a narrow branch, or catch myself after diving several yards from one tenuous hold to another with no fear or hesitation.

            Squirrels are all about work hard, play hard. Much of the entertainment comes from two, or three, chasing each other through the leaves, up a tree, then over to another, around a thick branch, back to the ground and over a split-rail fence into our yard for some open field running. There doesn’t seem to be any practical reason for this, leaving the inescapable conclusion that it’s just pure joy.

            For over twenty years we’ve had a steady supply of terriers, who are the squirrels’ sworn enemies.

            When we let them out, a mighty chase ensues. No squirrels have ever been caught, since they are very fast with plenty of trees at hand to facilitate escape. Our terriers are never discouraged by this, and never hold back, despite the lack of success. In this, they and the squirrels share the unrelenting tenacity of nature.

            We have a birdfeeder guaranteed to thwart squirrels, and it hasn’t failed us yet. That doesn’t mean the squirrels ever stop trying. The feeder is right outside a kitchen window, and after a heroic, gymnastic attempt to get at the bird seed, the squirrel will retreat to a nearby branch and look back through the window reproachfully, though with fierce determination.

“Never give up, never surrender.”

            There are many things that can distract one from writing, some of which are beneficial.

            I think high on the list are making a sandwich, letting out the dogs, putting wet clothes in the dryer, getting another cup of coffee or going to pee (the last two components of the same general process). If you’re looking for something that doesn’t entail getting out of your chair, I suggest monitoring squirrels.

            It doesn’t really undermine concentration and can even provide a bit of inspiration. No fictional character is pluckier than a squirrel. Conservative in his acorn husbandry; liberal in his tolerance of competing chipmunks. Courageous to a fault, innovative in pursuit of life’s rewards, yet always ready to just goof around. Living freely with unchecked abandon. What’s a better model?

            The way my writing space is arranged, there’s a little less than three feet between where I gaze outside and the split-rail fence.

            This means that a squirrel can perch on top of a fence post and look right at me. This happens frequently. When we stare into each other’s eyes, I wonder if he’s thinking, “What the hell are you doing in there? Why aren’t you out here collecting acorns? Don’t you know winter is coming?”

            Or it might be, “Can you please do something about those terriers?”

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