The life story of a squirrel

by T. C. Bridges

CLIMBING INTO ONE OF THE LARGEST TREES, WE LAY PANTING AND TIRED OUT.

Rusty, good fellow that he was, forebore to add to my self-reproaches by any remarks about what had happened. When I made some sort of apology for bringing him into trouble, he merely smiled, and, licking his lips, said:

‘I shan’t forget those nuts in a hurry. Wouldn’t mother like a few of them!’

At last, when the shadows were beginning to lengthen towards the east, we made a move. Under Rusty’s direction we worked back very quietly through the plantation to the edge of the road, and took a careful survey from the top of the tallest tree. All was still, the only sounds that broke the quiet of the windless autumn afternoon being the scrape of Simpson’s saw as he lopped away branches from the Hall trees, and the distant ‘Gee!’ and ‘Haw!’ of a ploughman at work in a field to the right of the larch plantation.

We crossed the road again, and resolved that though the distance was considerably greater, we would stick to the hedge all the way, and not trust ourselves again to the open grass. Fortunately for our peace of mind, the road along the side of which we were forced to travel was quite deserted, and, keeping as much as possible in the centre of the hedge, we slipped along at best pace. Of course, it was not by any means easy travelling, for in places the quickset was so thick and close that we were forced to take to the ground for short distances. Ground near a hedge is always most dangerous, for an old hedgerow, especially one with high banks either of earth or stone, is the chosen home of the stoat and the weasel, and both these bloodthirsty little terrors are quite as much at home among the branches of a thick hedge as even a squirrel.

More than half of our journey was covered in safety, and when we reached and crossed the brook we began to feel as though we were almost home. But we were not to escape without further adventure. A little way past the brook, just as we were nearing the timber which I have mentioned as running in an irregular row along the inside of this part of the hedge, there came a piece of holly so thick and close-cropped as to be quite impenetrable except very close to the ground. It would really have been wiser to have cut out across the field to the nearest of the trees, but we had had such a scare that we shirked the open. Rusty, leading as before, had got half-way through the holly, when I saw him stop short, and then, with a little warning cry, make a quick bound upwards into the thickest heart of the holly. At the same moment the tangled ivy which covered the bank below became alive with little beady eyes and snake-like, sinuous forms. We had run right into a whole pack of weasels hunting together, as is their custom on autumn afternoons.

I was after him like a flash, but the brutes had seen us, and came swarming up the close-set stems, hard at our heels. Under ordinary circumstances we could have cleared them in half a dozen bounds, but here we were at a shocking disadvantage. Above our heads the holly was like a wall, and it was all we could do to force our way through the stiff, glistening, dark-green leaves. I remember plunging along desperately, almost mad with fright, my eyes half-shut to protect them from the sharp prickles, and my nostrils full of the horrible, musky odour of our eager pursuers.

Then suddenly I was out of the darkness and on the top of the hedge, scratched, breathless, my wounded ear bleeding again. But where was Rusty? I could not see him, and a horrible fear almost numbed me. Just in front the branches were shaking, but it was too thick to see what was happening below. Anxiety overcoming terror, I made a dive forward into the tangle from which I had just escaped with much difficulty, and almost as I did so there came Rusty’s head out of the thicket. His eyes were bright with fright, and he dragged himself forward slowly, as if something were pulling him back. Instantly I saw that a weasel had him by the tail, its sharp teeth buried in the thick, long hairs. Without thinking twice, I plunged down and snapped with all my might at the fierce brute’s head. My long front teeth sank deep into the back of his neck, and I felt them grate on his skull. His jaws opened and he fell backwards, knocking over the next of the pack in his fall.

Relieved of the weight, Rusty shot upwards, and with half a dozen tremendous bounds was out of danger. As I followed him, a third weasel gained the top of the hedge, and, throwing its long body high into the air, like a snake in the act of striking, tried its best to seize me. I heard its needle-like, white teeth snap and caught a glimpse of its red eyes gleaming fiercely; but I was too quick for it, and, as it fell back disappointed, I was off in Rusty’s wake at a speed that defied pursuit. Regardless of concealment, we tore along the top of the hedge until level with the trees, then, turning off to the left, reached the timber, and so from tree to tree towards the coppice.

The sun was just setting when two worn-out, scratched, frightened, and very disreputable-looking squirrels reached the old beech and made humble confession to their mother of all that had happened to them during that adventurous day, and, after a thorough good scolding, were at last forgiven and permitted to sup on beech-mast and curl up with the rest of their family snug in the heart of the great beech trunk.