Sayonara, Mr. Squirrel

I have a rich inner life. That is to say, I’m a bit strange.

The things that interest others, I could care less about. Fashion, sports, television, and the newest restaurant? Yawn. Give me a jigsaw puzzle, access to a medical journal, or history documentaries, however, and I’ll disappear for days at a time.

One of my favorite personal idiosyncrasies is my unrelenting glee when encountering wildlife.

On a monthly basis, it seems, my boyfriend and I capture an injured or abandoned creature and make the trek down to the wildlife rescue. We go on a walk around the neighborhood several times per day. On a monthly basis, we see roadrunners, coyotes, and javalinas. On a daily basis, we see bunnies, quail, hawks, gila woodpeckers, wild parakeets, and a variety of other birds.

But none of the critters compare to the magical Mr. Squirrel!

Allow me to explain. Last year, while driving home, I shouted, “squirrel!” as we drove down our street. A press of the brakes, a sideways glance, and a chuckle. I described, in detail, what I had seen traipsing across the brick wall. I was accused of imagining it.

The Arizona gray squirrel likes canyons and forests. You’ll see them at the Grand Canyon, the Mogollon Rim, and other forested areas. Busy-tailed squirrels don’t live in the high desert.

Every few months, I would enthusiastically point as I yelled “It’s Mr. Squirrel!” And for months, my boyfriend teased me over my imaginary friend.

Eventually, while my boyfriend was out, I received a text. It was a picture of Mr. Squirrel. My mythical companion was, in fact, real.

Between the two of us, my boyfriend and I have lived in Phoenix for 77 years. This little fellow was the first and only squirrel either of us had ever seen. Thus, he was my favorite mythical, magical, wizardly fluff-ball.

Yesterday, on our walk, Mr. Squireel got closer than ever. He was digging his burrow and happily peeking his head out over a mound of soft dirt as we passed by. We stopped and watched him for several minutes, smiling. Usually, he would quickly duck away upon seeing us.

Later in the day, while driving home, my boyfriend slammed on the brakes and gasped. He got out of the car and went to examine something in the street.

Parked between Mr. Squirrel’s two favorite hangouts, I knew.

He hadn’t been run over. He wasn’t bleeding. But he also wasn’t breathing.

We walked back with a shovel and a box, and took Mr. Squirrel home. We buried him in the wash behind the house, pondering his mysterious origins and recalling memories of his fascinating antics.

This morning, Mr. Squirrel’s excavation site had been smoothed over and covered with gravel. It seems obvious now that the new homeowner viewed the one and only Mr. Squirrel as merely a pest to be eliminated. That breaks my heart even more than his death.

So, farewell to my wonderful, one-of-a-kind, little buddy, Mr. Squirrel.