Well, this past week I was looking down into the holler toward Webb’s Creek thinking about how I accidentally killed a squirrel a few days earlier. I was driving north on I-81 approaching the exit for Jonesboro when a little gray squirrel scampered onto the highway and froze. He appeared to stare straight into my eyes and I could sense the extreme fear that would not allow him to move. He was paralyzed and I was locked in my lane and could not swerve. I felt the sickening bump as the squirrel hit the tire and its life ended. Sadness filled my heart. I couldn’t even stop to move it off the highway and I imagined that it would be hit over and over again by other cars. You might think that spending so much time in the mountains could have calloused my emotions toward animals or at least allowed me to rationalize the squirrel’s death… “Oh, it was just a squirrel.” In fact, my respect for the dignity and sanctity of all living things has grown since being immersed in the mountains for the last eight years. Maybe it’s partly from observing the awesome beauty and personalities of animals firsthand and partly a genetic gift that was handed down through the Cherokee blood running in my veins.
Cherokee Indians have always held squirrels in exalted positions of reverence and respect. That special relationship is documented in an ancient Cherokee legend that tells of a council meeting of animals and how the prime agenda topic for discussion that day was “man.” The squirrel was the only animal at that ancient council meeting to defend man as all other animals denounced us as the arch enemy. Today, squirrels live side by side with “man” in subdivisions, city parks and large cities and have adapted as regular and sometimes even personally known “residents” in our neighborhoods.
There are over 300 different kinds of squirrels throughout the world. The Rocky Mountains’ Abert’s squirrel has tassled fur on its ears and looks like a mix of a squirrel and a rabbit (they call it a “squabbit”) and a chickaree squirrel will yell at you constantly (and I swear will throw acorns at you) until you depart from that section of the trail it sees as private property. Last fall, while in the Blue Ridge Mountains conducting book research, we received a wake-up call each morning at 6:00 a.m. when gray squirrels tossed oak acorns on our wooden shingled cabin roof. Squirrels are fun to observe and live in quite a few trees surrounding my cabin…best neighbors anyone could ever have.
We know that animals experience a wide range of emotions including love, jealousy, fear, pleasure, pain and grief. We know that an entire elephant herd in Africa modified their pace to the watering hole for many years to accommodate a crippled slower female elephant. We know the story about the incredible march of the penguins and how the males will stand at attention and protect the egg from sub zero temperatures for two months without having any food or water. We know that buffalo have been observed running and then sliding on ice again and again (like kids on a slip ‘n slide). We know that a whale that was released from a crab net by divers took an extra moment and nudged each of the rescuers individually before swimming off. We also know that in severe cold weather spells squirrels will share their nests with other squirrels to conserve and share body heat.
I believe that the squirrel I killed had already started working on its nest and was looking forward to a cozy winter with plenty of food and warmth. All humans are members of the global “humane” society for all animals…no dues…just kindness, mercy and compassion. I am saddened that I shortened the life of that beautiful little squirrel. That is just how it looks from my log cabin.
John LaFevre is a local speaker and co-author of the interactive hiking book series, “Scavenger Hike Adventures, Falcon Guides” by Globe-Pequot Press. E-mail to scavengerhike@aol.com or visit his blog at Falcon.com. G. Webb of Pittman Center does the illustrations for the column. Visit Gwebbgallery.com.
