I LOSE MY TAIL
PERCHING on the roof of the barn, I called softly, “Squirrie, Squirrie, where are you?”
For a long time he would not speak, then I heard him mocking me, “Here I am, baby, baby,” and he unexpectedly put his head out of a hole right behind me.
I turned round, and he made one of his dreadful faces at me.
“Squirrie,” I said gently, for I was determined not to lose patience with him, “come out, I want to talk to you.”
“And what have you to say that is worth listening to?” he asked teasingly, and sticking his head a little further out of the hole.
“I want to tell you how sorry I am for you,” I went on, “and to ask you if I can help you to try to be a better squirrel. The birds are getting pretty angry with you, and I fear they may
run you out of the neighborhood if you don’t improve.”
At this bit of news he came right out, his eyes twinkling dangerously.
“What are they planning to do?” he asked.