The Squirrel

Last week a squirrel nest fell out of one of our trees and a baby squirrel was left lying on our grass. He was so cute, but not moving from where he'd fallen and I was worried that a neighborhood cat might decide that he'd make a tasty snack. I called the Lindsay Museum in Walnut Creek, and they said to put on gloves and put the squirrel into a shoe box and bring him/her in as soon as possible.

The boys were fascinated with the rodent and kept running outside to take a gander. I gave Grandpa, who was out visiting with Safta for Auntie P's wedding, a pair of gloves and asked him to put the squirrel on a little bed of towel in a shoe box I handed him. Grandpa reluctantly did this and then Safta held the boxed squirrel as we drove to the Museum, which is also an animal rescue hospital. We dropped off the squirrel and went to play at a nearby park.

The next day, M told me that we had to return to the Lindsay Museum to tell the "people" not to put the squirrel next to the eagle because the eagle would eat him/her. I told him that I would call the "people" instead of driving all the way back.

I wonder if our squirrel became a snack for the aforementioned eagle. I guess I'd better not mention that to M.