My girls and my squirrel. Julie, our younger daughter, barely says hello to me, instead, firing off an expected question: has Hiya appeared?
No matter the answer, she speeds through the house, heading to the big glass sliding doors that open onto a back enclosure. Our fabulous furnished rental has maintenance free concrete-panel flooring in the back yard, barren but for the cedars that frame the space.
I do miss having a garden, my first one was also last one: when firstborn daughter embraced teenage rebellion, I put my energy to ridding the backyard of grass and purposefully planting flowers. Later, christened ‘a healing garden’, it remained therapeutic until we sold house and furniture and moved across town to these new rental digs
I added bird feeder and birdbath to the austere grounds. The bird feeder brought birds. I soon got a second feeder and soon after, found myself filling the feeders when they emptied. Going through an enormous bag of feed a week. A couple of rats became frequent scuttling visitors, described as ‘elegant’ by my nephew. And then the squirrels got wind of this challenge and, as squirrels do, managed to thwart every bird feeder prevention ploy.
One squirrel in particular was extremely bold and positively defiant, unlike the others who scattered when I stomped. He/she had what looked to be a stripe down his/her back. Upon closer look, it looked like fur had been pulled out or it was a weird skin disease. Nonetheless, I was intrigued by the sheer nerve of this squirrel and decided that maybe trying to be friends instead of adversaries would fix the feeder problem.
I started slow, a trail of peanuts leading to my foot – enclosed in a hardy boot. Soon the squirrel was close enough to determine it was female. I felt I needed to name this squirrel but nothing was ringing true. Until I realized that my greeting, ‘Hiya’ is what I said whenever I spotted her. So her official name is Hiya.
In due course trust was established and soon Hiya was eating out of my hand. We moved from peanuts in the shell to shelled because of the mess made. Now, Hiya puts her cute little squirrelly bottom on one of my legs, while feasting on nuts on the other leg. She is very careful not to hurt me (those wolverine claws are lethal) but has different types of touch to give me messages. Her fur has grown in and is a beautiful black with golden tips.
Of course it is a given and understood and respected that this squirrel is neither a pet nor a pal; she’s a wild animal granting us her trust.
In the fullness of time, more squirrels and rats came for scraps and we decided to cut back severely on the bird seed. The birds disappeared. The squirrel population dwindled to Hiya and a competitor, who she shoed away.
I am so delighted by this relationship that when Julie comes over, I’m right there with her on the hunt for Hiya who rarely disappoints.We have experienced the ‘warning’ touch, the rapid re-positioning and – our fave – splooting (it’s a real thing). We comment on her adorable ears, her delicate albeit lethal feet, her tail curling up behind her.
Older daughter, Jessika, visiting from her Geneva home base had a different reaction to Hiya: she was not charmed. She did not try to feed her. Instead: terror. Talking about the delicate touch of Hiya’s claws creeped her right out.
She was spooked by this squirrel.
Hiya was curious about this new person. Then mystified. Then Jessika brought a spray bottle filled with water She was armed, and anxious. We believe Hiya has understood:not all humans in this back yard appreciate her.
I worried with this clear rebuff that Hiya might write us all off but I was happy to tell Julie that while Jessika was en garde, Hiya was undaunted.
Now, she comes right up to the sliding glass door and I swear, if she could figure out how to knock on the glass door, she would.
We’ve figured out how to live peacefully, the three of us. Julie and I distract Hiya while Jessika simply watches, in horror, from afar.
