Squirrels

Tennis requires a certain amount of concentration if the balls are to be kept in the court or anywhere close to a particular place so I don’t do a lot of thinking when I am hitting balls. 

Still I am aware that the world is all around me and yesterday that included a small squirrel who saw my ball drop over the fence and dashed for it as if it were a prized gift, long awaited and ready to be carried off.

Without even thinking I yelled, “Heh, heh, heh, leave that ball alone!”  He glanced up at me and went right back to sniffing and I added, “Everything that falls out of the sky is not a nut!”

My comment surprised me so much I wondered who was being squirrelier, that small furry creature or me talking to him?  I was hooked.  I began thinking that maybe anything that was in the sky might be nuttier than a fruitcake.  I remembered the story of one of the first women to fly.  She only had one accident in her entire career.  She had a passenger in her plane and as she demonstrated her skills and flew her plane upside down, both she and her passenger fell out of the sky into the water below.  She died.  

As I was thinking this, an acorn fell out of a nearby tree and the squirrel eagerly scampered over to it.  I watched him pick it up and dash off.  Now I was off on another tangent.  Was this the squirrel’s first year of hoarding food for the winter?  Did he even know what he was doing, or why, or was it some in-born instinct that drove him to squirrel food away?

Pretty soon I was off on another tangent.  How much of what I do is mere instinct?  How much is something built into me from ancestors who were born hunters and gatherers and then farmers? 

My ball glanced back at me from the backboard and I instinctively darted over to hit it back.