This time of year things, creatures,
have a way of coming inside. Our friend up the valley, Emmy Fiesinger, had a
weasel in her living room. The Butlers across the creek had a bear stick its
nose through the kitchen door (literally through the door). My friend,
Maureen from Woodstock, found a fisher in her trailer. I actually had a mouse
in my office that would climb on my desk, sit on a paperweight, and watch me
work at my computer. It was quite cute, round and tiny as a ping-pong ball with
a shiny black nose like a little bean. It came to visit a few days running, but
it disappeared the instant my new daughter-in-law brought her cat to the house.
We’ve also from time to time been invaded
(or “visited” if you share PETA’S point of view) by bats, raccoons,
skunks, red squirrels, and snakes. The only solution for an invasion of red squirrels comes in twelve gauge. The little bastards get shot on sight. They are tiny, wily, and
fast, very hard to hit, and, I’m sorry, folks, very satisfying when you do.
This takes place outside, of course. If you had them in your house you’d know
why: they eat everything in sight – plants, chopsticks, plastic picnic forks, bars of soap, bags of
noodles, incense sticks, toilet paper, the rubber lining of the refrigerator et
al – and they defecate every fifth step so dots of crap are all over the place
like tiny, vile ball bearings. Bats, however, are treated with care, caught
with a fishing net and released outside; raccoons get shooed away; and snakes
in the basement are left there to eat the mice. I must admit I mourned the loss
of my little friend, but not for long. I’m not that far gone. Still, if you live
in the country, as far as critters are concerned, it’s “Mi casa, su casa”, and
there’s no getting upset about it. If you can’t get used to it, get a condo in
town.
Mostly,
of course, this kind of stuff only happens occasionally. Mostly, the creatures
stay outside where they’re supposed to stay. We have a huge back window that
looks north up Evergreen Mountain. We see lots of life out there that has no
idea it’s being watched. I’ve seen a deer on its hind legs trying to climb an
apple tree to get at fruit on a limb above its head. I’ve seen our bear on a casual stroll. I’ve
seen a coyote stalk and rush a gray squirrel, and I’ve seen the squirrel get
away. I don’t think its feet touched the ground for ten yards. The squirrel
leaped. The coyote jumped. His jaws clacked down on empty. The squirrel
commenced to scream furiously at him from the top of a maple tree. I applauded.
One winter a covey of grouse camped out under a spruce tree in the back. It was
the same winter I saw the wolf. Damn straight. A wolf! I gaped with astonishment
as it crossed towards a stand of Norwegian spruce, passed through, and sat
howling on the other side. Big-headed, gray, long, with a thick, bushy tail. A
wolf! It had snowed earlier and the fallen snow preserved his prints for days.
The forest service said it probably came down from Canada. Mink, fox, lynx and
bobcats are out there, too, if you’re lucky enough to see them. It’s
opportunistic. If you’re out there and happen to glance in the right direction
at the exact right time you might spot a piece of something. When I’m out there my head and
eyes are on automatic pilot, side to side, up and down. Don’t think bobble head
doll. These movements are subtle. Still, there are no guarantees. Maybe you’ll
see something. Maybe you won’t, but what you know for certain is that they are
out there, and they are watching you.
