It's my mother's birthday today so it's a no-work day as we celebrate her (for me, in particular, her unflagging support of my writing career). We spent some time this morning on the front deck, enjoying our coffee and the sunshine and watching this little darling take one peanut at a time and bury each one in a different spot in the yard.
Every third or fourth peanut, she would pause to eat. Given the exhausting back-and-forth she was involved in -- across the deck for a peanut then across the yard to hide it -- we decided her hard work and commitment, but also her sense to stop and replenish her energy, meant she is female. A completely arbitrary assignment.
We do know this isn't Oswald, the tamest squirrel; I'm pretty sure he was hit by a car the other night. He was named for Santa's squirrel navigator in a Christmas movie we watched last year but my country boy has started calling the other squirrels Lee and Harvey.
Insert a sigh here.
I'm not sure I want my squirrels named after a presidential assassin.