For those of you that are not on board yet with the fact that weird shit happens to me…this is a story for you. For those of you that have been with me forever, this will remind you of the baby bird incident. Because it can’t happen once in a lifetime, not to me, no, of course not.
I was in Flat Head State Park, Big Arm Unit in Montana. Again, another amazing place in this great state. I was able to snag the very last walk-in site in the late afternoon after going several miles the wrong way around the lake because I have no sense of direction and there is more than one Flat Head State Park, Unit in Google Maps. Sigh. Another story for another day.
I was parked under some very tall pine trees full of pinecones. That particular site was very active in the squirrel community. I watched, in admiration, as they chased one another, reinforced their nests, gathered food, you know, the normal squirrel stuff. But they also did other squirrel stuff that pissed me off, like throwing pinecones out of the trees at all hours of the day and night.
On my last night at this beautiful park, I was out enjoying the evening air and having a cocktail, when all of a sudden, masses of pinecones started raining from the sky. I had had enough of that shit after 2 bushels collected by the camper door. I stood up, marched over to the tree, found the squirrel and started yelling at it. Because that’s not crazy at all, but this crazy ass tree rat upped the crazy ante by throwing a NEST out of the tree. A SQUIRREL nest.
I went over to check and make sure it was empty and reassessed just what in the hell I was dealing with. This rogue squirrel could be capable of anything at this point if she’s throwing nests at me to quiet my threats. I stared the little asshole down until she turned around and climbed higher. I returned to my drink, satisfied I’d won The Great Squirrel Standoff, and called it an early night.
Just before dark, a steady stream of pinecones was being pelted at the RV again. I threw open the door and saw her at eye level on a branch. I didn’t have to shout this time since she was so close. As I’m bawling her out, I realize the enormous squirrel nest I had been admiring during my stay was GONE. No longer hanging in the tree where I saw it every time I opened the door.
I sprang out of the camper and ran around the rocks. To my horror, there it was, on the ground, the squirrel nest with 3 tiny babies half in and half out of the destruction Squandrea had left behind.
I looked up and there she was, staring right back at me with a look of satisfaction. I yelled up at her and asked her if she’d lost her damn mind. Of course, I know squirrels can’t talk but they can look right back at you with these deranged eyes, still as a statue.
I stood there and thought, what in the hell am I going to do now? I can’t leave them here. And I certainly can’t bring them inside. I can only imagine my neighbors’ surprise as I come out of the RV with tiny Band-Aids all over my face after they had tried to bite it off. Nope, not an option. So, I start toward the camp hosts sites. I tracked down the side by side circling the block for one last nightly check and told them my dilemma as curious onlookers crept closer to hear the whole story. Because whenever you start a conversation with, “Yeah…So…I’ve got a serious squirrel situation in B-22 that involves a mother trying to kill her 3 babies by throwing them out of a tree,” people tend to lean in. After confirming what they heard, they told me they would be back with a container for them. As I make the trek back to my campsite, I’m thinking this husband and wife will come back with an empty coffee can, scoop them up and haul them away. But we all know that’s not how these stories go.
I hear the motor of the camp hosts coming so I stand at the road to make sure they got to B-22, post haste. Instead of the coffee can and the wife, the husband brings back the resident wildlife expert and his tote. I see his long, grey hair pulled back in a ponytail, tie-dyed T-shirt, and Birkenstocks exit the cart. He tells me it’s been 20 years since he has eaten meat as he clicks on his headlamp to rescue these baby squirrels from their certain death. I knew I had the right man for the job as he strode past me stinking of patchouli oil and pot. After small talk about eating plants for life and the benefits of it, knowing we will never, ever be friends, he collects the precious cargo consisting of a nest and 3 tiny squirrels. I can only hope his neighbors don’t have to witness his Band-Aided face because he chose to keep them and raise them as his own.
