The Squirrel

Note: I'm working on a few news things but until then here is a re-post of a note I wrote almost a year ago. I've also added a section that I thought was appropriate.


My local Starbucks is only two streets from me so I patron it quite often. With spring burgeoning I have the opportunity to actually enjoy my walks now. Although blustery, today's weather was fairly pleasant, and given my cooped-up weekly cubicle anytime outside has its advantages. Turning the bend I saw a squirrel marooned in the street, an ocean of asphalt between it and the safety of the grass.

At first I thought it already a sacrifice to the road gods; given the time of year this becomes commonplace in the Forest City. Unfortunately no squirrel sits in the middle of traffic unless it has been injured. As are distance decreased I was able to see that one of the squirrel’s hind legs was broken; bent at an awkward angle. Even so, it would scuttle a bit, make an attempt toward the safety of the trees only to be blocked by most recent oncoming death machine (could I even imagine what a car looked like from it’s perspective?). Given the afternoon traffic this was a perilous fete. Luckily each driver was aware of it’s predicament and swerved out the way. But tell this to the squirrel, it doesn't know that each car was making an effort, making its chances of reaching the curb slightly better (given the injuries). So with each oncoming car it froze or retreated it's hard fought advance. 

It hurt me to see it like that so I waited until the cars passed and stepped into the street shielding its way to the curb. Unfortunately it didn't move. I could see its little leg bent and its rapid breathing. I was anthropomorphizing the event: this experience was absolutely terrifying. I wasn't sure if I should touch it so I nudged it with my boot hoping it would scamper away. However, it pretended that it was dead (who knew squirrels played possum). I had no other choice but to pick it up and move it. I had to, I was committed. Psychologists call this the diffusion of responsibility--the number of people available to help someone in distress is inversely correlated with the likelihood of the person receiving some form of assistance. I guess in my mind I have applied this rule to animals as well.

I picked it up. The squirrel was light enough to be picked up with one hand; I could feel its ribs moving (it was much lighter than I always thought a squirrel would be). It gave a short defiant squawk but nothing more. Although the thought had crossed my mind that I could have been bitten I somehow justified my action as being worth it. I mean I couldn't just walk away knowing that I could increase this squirrel’s chance of survival.

I placed the squirrel down on the soft pine-needled covering of the nearest houses lawn, no more than 10 feet from the street. It just stayed there not moving. The rest was up to the squirrel, so I continued my journey to Starbucks...

...After 3 hours of work and 2 tall bolds with skim milk (gotta lay off the fat) I headed home. The sky was a perfect blue and the wind died down to periodic gusts. The sunshine was a remedy to all those days of gray. I love days like this I told myself, it jump starts the soul. The bend was up ahead. I was hoping that the squirrel was not back in the middle of the street. You can never tell what an animal’s intentions are. Maybe I put it on the wrong side of the road. What if it needed to go to the other side of the street and all I did was make it’s chances harder.

Coming up on the yard where we parted ways I saw no sign of the squirrel in the street. There was one happily consuming a nut nearby. It noticed me then scampered away. No broken leg, it wasn't the one. I stopped at the same tree and looked; nothing. I was exhilarated in that moment. Somehow it managed to survive and on 3 legs no less, I thought to myself. However, as my eyes followed the grass toward the house there it was dead. The squirrel was lying on its back, head to the side. It was a male. There was no sign of breathing. I stood there for some time trying to pick out any small movements as the wind would lift its tail to and fro, but nothing happened; no rising of the chest or squirms or sounds. He obviously had more dire injuries than were visible. 

I reflected on the prior moments: me finding him, trying to get him to safety, leaving him to continue on, and even the disconnect of three hours where my world of coffee house music, chatting people, espresso machines, and psychology papers diverged from the simplified survivalist experiences of suburban wildlife. All of this had some meaning to me and if I thought about it long and hard it would make sense (or at least I thought this, which is usually how my mind works things out anyways). Eventually the time to move on felt right so I silently acknowledged the experience and wished the animal off, hoping his life was not entirely in vain.

As I finished my walk home I thought some more about my actions. I wanted to believe he had an easier death on a plush green lawn than in the street. I had to think this or else my actions would have been futile. It occurred to me that at some point in deciding to move him that I was embodying some "savior archetype" that I had inside me; “if I move you, you will live." Retrospectively, I would have done it even if I'd have known his outcome. What this all seemed to point to was simply this: although we all die alone, we shouldn't have to do it in the middle of a road.

J.M.