Bushy Tail
Spring
Springtime heralds greenery, birdsong, and the emergence of new life. With the pandemic in our rear-view mirror, the suburban wildlife shows all signs of bouncing back. With humans temporarily getting out of their way and not many vehicles to mow them down, this spring has been bountiful with raccoons, squirrels, skunks, opossums, and songbirds. The eastern grey squirrels are especially a familiar sight.
Bushy Tail
A couple of days ago, I noticed a young squirrel foraging in a nearby bush as I approached the porticoed gym entrance. He seemed like he wanted to follow me indoors. Instead of scurrying away, he stood stock-still by the door staring at me with gleaming eyes. I was hesitant to open the door, giving him a chance to get out of my way. But he wouldn’t budge. I might have stood there for all but a second, surmising his odd behavior. Then it happened in a flash. His defender dashed down from the rafters, startling me. She had come to his rescue. I stepped back to let the scene play out. Then it started making sense. The younger one’s back leg was injured. He desperately tried getting on his mother’s back, dragging his injured leg. Try as he might, he couldn’t hang on to her. She wanted to take him back up to the rafters on a vertical column. That wasn’t going to happen, given his size.
They got out of my way. Making my way inside, I remember thinking he was one dead squirrel. Surely his days lay numbered. Minutes later, I watched the replay of the piggyback scene through a large glass pane as I walked the treadmill. He would drag his foot, forage, and fail to find grub in the nearby bushes. Sensing activity, she would scramble back up the rafters, always an eye shot distance. When the coast got clear, they would retry and repeatedly fail.
Sparrow
As a young boy, I had witnessed a sparrow chick trying to fly from a nest perched above a parapet wall. It must have been in the early eighties in India. It fell on the floor and got injured. We lived in a compound with two other families that shared the sublets. Instinctively, I picked up the young one. But before I could decide my action, its mom, who had returned momentarily, saw me holding the chick and went berserk, chirping wildly and flying erratically above me. I imputed anger and distress to her behavior. Our neighbor’s kid, a girl a few years older than me, joined in. She suggested that we administer first aid and put it back. Hearing the commotion, my mom came out. Upon assessing the situation, she talked some sense into both of us that it was a terrible idea to take the chick inside. She deposited the chick back in the nest. We were allowed to watch nature take its course but only at a distance. We were allowed to leave a seed or watermelon piece near the nest and watch if the chick would get better or worse under its mother’s supervision. Those were our standing instructions. I knew better than to disobey her. It all came surging back as I watched the squirrel.
Nature
I am reading Neil Shubin’s Your Inner Fish and can’t help but be in awe at all the biodiversity and its evolution from simplest forms in deep oceans to birds of flight with humans in the middle. Our distant ancestors getting preserved in the sedimentary rock, only for us to discover and make sense of, is awe-inspiring and humbling. Every form and function we possess, including our jaw structure, teeth, tail bone, bipedalism, and a host of others, is a variation of an ancient theme of instructions — an ancient genome.
Eat, or be eaten. Evolve stronger teeth to crunch stronger bones. If it doesn’t kill off, evolution does its job by taking its course — endowing defenses or ruthlessly eliminating the failed experiment. Mother nature is red in the tooth and claw. Derelict in her duties to protect all that she spawns, she promptly neglects to interfere. She lets it all play out and unfold in astonishing ways. And as proof positive, it has brought humans into existence!
Last Laugh
A flurry of thoughts crossed my mind. Getting bitten and eventual death by rabies in trying to help out an injured squirrel is certainly one outcome.
I am the type to slow down when two squirrels, chasing each other, decide to cross the street in front of my vehicle. I even anticipate their indecision as they invariably approach the double-yellow lines, turn around as if to head back, only to reverse direction to negotiate the other half of the street in front of me. I cringe when I hear wildlife bump against a fast-moving vehicle. A disconcerting thud heard as they get disoriented, badly injured, or mowed down under the tires is yet another outcome. True as it might be, to suggest that those dumb animals had it coming is just a justification. Some among us even relish roadkill, bringing out the animal in us. Only natural, one might say?
So What?
As I reflect on the squirrel’s fate, I know nature will take her course. Squirrels may adapt to sensing suburban traffic, but who knows? As the squirrel tries, instinctively aware of his diminishing prospects of survival and impending demise, that is mother nature’s game. Let’s not judge the frivolity of his existence lest we recognize our precariousness in this shared circumstance. Mother nature always has the last laugh. As lucky minds, we have a greater responsibility to steward the planet — for she will standby, watching this drama unfold with or without us. The sparrow chick made a full recovery. I learnt an invaluable life lesson not to interfere. The squirrel might not be so lucky. But, on the other hand, he might. On that positive note —
Happy Earth Week Everybody!
Thanks for your readership and support.
© Dr. VK. All rights reserved, 2022
