Sometimes, inspiration descends on a person from the oddest places.
Yes, it might come from the words you happen to read in a book or that are spoken to you by a friend, sung to you in a song, or even a few lines scribbled on the inside of a greeting card. A scene from a movie. Or sayings that you heard years ago from an elder and which have stayed in your memory.
Or, they might just come from observing the wildlife in your backyard.
A few weeks ago, I noticed a path, a few inches wide, in the fresh snow behind our house. I had no idea what had created this flat mark, but I followed it across the yard, never finding its source. It looked like it might have been made by a beaver’s tail. But we’ve never had any beavers in our yard, so I was stumped. Wild rabbits never leave such a trail. Nor do squirrels, who always flit about with their tails high in the air.
But then a few days later, I noticed a black squirrel gobbling up the seed below one of our bird feeders. It then decided to go for a drink of water from a heated waterbowl we have nearby. I then saw that this poor little creature’s back end was paralyzed. He could only propel himself by his front legs and as he dragged himself along, his dead tail left a broad path in the snow.
So I took to feeding the squirrels on the ground so this little guy wouldn’t have to try to climb up to a platform below our treehouse, where I normally put their sunflower seeds. The next day, there was my little paralyzed friend, up on the platform, eating away. He must have crawled up the treehouse steps and made his way onto the feeding station.
Since then, I have watched for the poor guy several times a day until about ten days ago when I didn’t see him anymore. I took to walking around the yard, looking for his body. I never found it. He had obviously crawled into a bush or some other obscure place where he could breathe his last.
Like the rabbits in our yard, the squirrels have come to recognize me as the source of their food. And when I emerge from the back of the garage, they all head for their feeding places, turn in my direction, and watch me.
Yesterday, a bunch of them, scrambled from all parts of the yard and headed for their feeders when they saw me. One of those, was my little paralytic. But things had changed. While he was still dragging his dormant tail through the snow, he was now able to use his back legs. They were unsteady, and he sort of darted in a crooked line rather than a straight one, but he was recovering. And the strangest thing is, the other squirrels stand back while he’s eating, almost as though they are making allowances for his disability.
Why this inspires me is this.
Since I was a teenager, I have had a wonky back. My Dad had a troublesome back too and even wore a brace to help him meet the demands of farming.
Now and then, every few months, or so, my back “goes out”. The pain, which sometimes comes in spasms, is incredible. It causes me to yell out, like I’d just been shot, even in the middle of the night. I dig out my cane and hobble away. I sleep fitfully in a chair, rather than my bed. I immediately also apply copious amounts of self-pity and embark on a campaign to elicit lots of sympathy from the people I live with. It seems to help.
Today, is my first good day in a week-long episode. I’ve been to a physiotherapist in the past, but even his soothing touch and acupuncture needles, failed to produce any long-lasting relief. It always goes away on its own. I just chalk it up to another visit from the “Hagarty back” and move on. Nothing I ever do seems to bring it on, and only time – a few days usually – chases it away.
This morning, with my cane, I stepped outside to see my brave little squirrel dragging himself through the snow. I know it’s my imagination, but it seems to me he has come to tolerate my presence, almost like he knows I am trying to help him. The other squirrels dash off in a panic if I get too close, but not my “Squirrely”. He kept gobbling away while I was only a few feet away from him.
I am not sure what Squirrely is using in his quest to self-recover. It seems as though he has just decided to do the best he can with what he has left. If he feels sorry for himself, I’ve seen no evidence of it. So he can’t climb the plastic pole to our main birdfeeder anymore. I’ve watched him try and fail at that.
Otherwise, he’s just carrying on!
I’ve ditched my cane.
If Squirrely can do it.
I can too.
P.S. I was given the command this morning to not climb the ladder to fill the bird feeder. And as I stood atop the shaky ladder an hour later, I was reminded of what an idiot I am. When I am confronted later today when the full bird feeder is noticed, I will simply blame my lapse on Squirrely.
©2024 Jim Hagarty
