My day starts with SQUIRRELS!

My day starts with squirrels when I open the shed door and hear the girls "bwaaaabwaaaabwaaaaaa," translated "let me OUT!" There's sometimes a small gray Buddha, little hands tucked up against her ample belly, waiting for breakfast. There may be little more than the panting of a huge Muscovy duck and dust motes floating in the shaft of sunlight that cuts the gloom inside. But by the time I've opened the door to the condo--the home of my aging chickens-- the "tiktiktik" scurrying sounds from the rafters of the shed have materialized into a line of soft gray robed monks lined up on top of the pen little paws folded as if around begging bowls. The squirrels are here. They are the babies I raised last summer from tiny thumb sized infants. Some are big chunky guys, some are little bitches who boss the others around. Some are gentle creatures, shy with the other squirrels but friendly and lovey with me, eager for skritches and pets. They are all my friends, and even though they've been "free" since last October, they stay close to my unending delight, having moved from the release cage into the sanctuary of the shed.

They tend to wait until after breakfast ( a gourmet salad prepared fresh each morning) to go about their business--which includes banging on the back door for nuts. I see them hurtling themselves from tree to tree throughout the day. On rainy, snowy or nasty days, they keep to the safe dry nests they've built in the rafters of the shed. On freezing cold nights they pile up in the insulated pouch hanging from a wall over the condo--all five stuffed inside--tight fit, but warm. When I close the door to the shed in the evening I count noses as I dole out treats, terrified that somebody will be missing. Later I do a late shed check when I take the boy possums their dinner.

Spring is here--I see the kinds of chasing that will eventually bring baby squirrels. The need to start families will replace the need for familiarity and the comfort of home. There will be more orphans coming and eventually they'll join the gene pool out back. The mama in me wants all my babies close--maybe not in the spare bedroom (I already have squirrels in there). But I'd be tickled if they stay in the neighborhood so I can keep an eye on them. I want my darlings safe, well fed, friendly. I want to be there for them if they get hurt (already happened once).

What I want doesn't mean a dadburn thing to them. They're squirrels. They are my friends by THEIR choice. They will do what they will do as nature tells them. I'm on the outside and by their grace touch a world of hurtling through trees, basking in leaf dappled sunlight on a branch 40-feet up, hanging by my ankles to snack on a piece of pecan or racing straight up a tree.

The squirrels are teaching me some really important lessons I never learned in school, church, meditation or from books. They've taught how glorious it is to enjoy day to day survival. They do to the fullest. They're teaching me to be careful (life depends on it) but not to fear. I'm learning that opening your heart to another creature is a high not to be equaled. I might add here that everybody who isn't mentally deranged opens his or her heart to someone--or thing. I reckon it's about the most satisfying thing people do. Thing is, folks generally expect some sort of payback. Squirrels don't. A squirrel accepts you--or doesn't. I love my squirrels. They ACCEPT me. It's a more-than-fair trade--'specially since their acceptance in most cases is more profound, more genuine and more sincere than human love (that's all too often pretty darned shallow and self-serving).

 I start my day with squirrels. I start my day with life. I start my day with love. Love is good. Thanks squirrels!