I called her Cutiepie because she had no tail, which made her seem cute compared to her friends, many of whom were mean to her. I have no idea why she had no tail. I imagined she escaped a Hawk, or other raptor. Maybe the Hawk grabbed her tail and she leaped away, or chewed if off to escape. It could have become tangled in a fence as some mean human chased her with a BB gun.
I always thought of her as brave because of this missing tail. I realize I thought of her as brave because I made up a story about why the tail was missing. She could have been born without a tail, but that wasn't my story, my story involved trauma and a brave squirrel, so that is that. Cutiepie was brave. And quick, fast, with shifty eyes. She was also a smarmy yet charming. I don't know why I thought she was smarmy. It probably had something to do with how she manipulated me for treats, dug up other squirrel treats, and of course was brave in a smart ass way during the trauma I assumed happened. I don't know what makes a squirrel charming, but in my story she is charming. And, again, it's my story. Anyway, I gave her walnuts, and eventually she would approach me, in her smart, charming, smarmy, cute way.
I trained my bulldog to respect her (by keeping her leashed) and Cutiepie eventually understood the bulldog would not harm her. She probably also noticed my bulldog's wobble and belly, which of course gave her courage to think the dog would not harm her. Daisy would have no idea what to do with a squirrel even if she could catch one. I think Cutiepie knew that.
Cutiepie had many lives, many more than the nine lives of a cat. I saved her several times, twice from a large barred owl. I assume leaping from branch to branch was difficult with no tail for balance, so when I saw hawks, I would warn her. I actually banged on a window to stop a large red tailed hawk from plucking her off my property as I ran on the treadmill. The hawk flapped around, then tried again, but by then I was outside and running after it. Cutiepie escaped.That hawk hated me.
But there are just so many lives to a squirrel. See, there are millions of squirrels for the same reason there are millions of rabbits. Every predator on earth eats a squirrel or a rabbit. So, when I heard all the blue jays (who always yell at me if a hawk attacks a squirrel) screaming right under Cutiepie's tree, I ran out, clapped by hands. But, nothing. I assumed she was eaten. But a week later, under the tree, I found her body. It was frozen and therefore hard to investigate. I could not see puncture wounds, but that doesn't mean there weren't puncture wounds. I imagined she was chased and leaped, then fell, maybe broke her neck. I assume she died quickly. The hawk didn't bother to go after her because I was in the vicinity.
Of course, she could have caught a strange disease and simply died. Again, that's not my story. My story is she was running from danger, leaped from one branch to the next, and due to no tail for balance, fell to her death. I'm sticking with that story.
No one touched her body and we buried her deep in the arboreal property contiguous to mine. I cried and mourned her and was glad the hawk didn't kill her. I've seen a hawk kill and eat its prey. They prefer to eat the prey alive.
She had quite a few offspring, so I think her life will live on.
tap on the video below. RIP Cutiepie!
December in Charleston
I like to write about people, animals, dogs. I enjoy ideas, good books about ideas, funny books about ideas, funny people who have ideas, advocates for people who don't have voices to express their ideas, and animals who have ideas we can't understand.