A Story For A Stormy Day

Once upon a time there was a small red squirrel named Half Tail.
He had an older brother and an older sister. His brother lived in a box on a high shelf in the garage. His sister lived in a hanging basket in the garden shed. All summer, while he ran around the yard, up and down trees, in and out of the garage and the garden shed, Half Tail looked and looked until he found the perfect spot to build his nest for the winter: in the big black barbecue sitting on the front deck of the big red house.

"You can't use that," his big brother scoffed. "The humans fill it with flames and cook food in there. You can't build your nest there."

But Half Tail kept any eye on the big black barbecue and for all of August and September, no one even opened the lid of the barbecue.
He listened to the crows who said winter would come early this year so as the days grew shorter and the wind colder, Half Tail decided the barbecue would be his home for the winter.

All fall, he gathered dried leaves and discarded feathers, and every day, he added to his growing collection inside the barbecue, and when the snow arrived early in November, Half Tail slept snugly in his nest inside the barbecue.

Every morning, Half Tail watched through a crack in the side of the big black barbecue to see when the human brought out seeds and peanuts for the birds. When the human went back inside the big red house, Half Tail squeezed out a larger hole in the back and went collecting peanuts and sunflower seeds. Every day, he ran around with his brother and sister, and he chased the blue jays and listened to the chickadees. He climbed up the pine trees to talk to the crows, and he sat on the back deck and watched the sunset before going back to his nest in the barbecue.

It was a strange winter, one day snowing, the next raining; one day, frigidly cold, the next day warm enough to melt the ice.
One of those warm days, as he sat on a limb in the maple tree, he watched one of the humans come out onto the front deck and open the lid of the barbecue. He heard the human call out and another human, the one who brings the seeds and peanuts, stepped outside. This human looked at the nest and laughed, then she closed the lid and shook her head.

A week later, Half Tail was running across the yard when he saw the two humans come out onto the front deck. One human had a container in her hands and when the other human opened the lid of the barbecue, the first human scooped up his nest and put it into the container.

"My nest! My nest!" Half Tail hollered from on top of a rock in the garden. "Get away from my nest!"
He was dismayed. The humans removed his nest from the barbecue -- in February! It was still winter. Where would he sleep? How would he stay warm on these cold, cold nights?
Then he noticed the human with the container was putting it down in the corner of the deck where it meets the side of the red house. The human then placed a larger blue container over top. The blue container had a hole in the front.

Then the human searched around for a heavy board and placed it on top of the blue container, and pushed a chair against it, holding it firmly in the corner. The two humans stood back and looked at the blue container wedged into the corner, with the board hanging over like a little roof, nodded their heads, and went back inside the red house.

Half Tail was curious. His nest was no longer in the barbecue, but his nest wasn't destroyed, it was now inside that container in the corner of the house.
He was about to go and inspect it when he heard a human step out onto the front deck. He watched as the human put a handful of peanuts on the deck right in front of the hole in the blue container, then return inside.

As he was taught, Half Tail took the long way to get up to the deck, zig zagging from tree to tree, scurrying from the far end of the deck to the other, then heading under the deck to check things out. He popped up in the corner, right behind the container.
There was a small opening in the blue container at the back as well! The human had given him two ways in and out, just as he was taught to have.
He sniffed the back of the container, and he sniffed the edge of the hole. He sniffed the hole itself then stretched his head inside as far as it would go. All he could smell was his nest. All he could smell was the familiar scent of his leaves and his feathers and himself.

Half Tail flung himself through the hole and scrambled around the smaller container. It, too, had two openings at the front and the back, and inside was his nest, a little out of order but safe and secure. Half Tail sat and touched the leaf sticking out of a slat in the side of the small container. He realized this container nest was much less drafty than the barbecue; he wouldn't be kept awake by the wind howling through vents and openings. It seemed less leaky; he wouldn't have to sleep on damp leaves.
Half Tail ran out the front hole, under the deck and back up through the back hole. He ran through the back of the small container, right through his nest, and ran out the front of the container. Then he ran back into the nest.
His nest. This was his nest. Just like it had been in the barbecue, but better. Warmer. Drier. Safer.
This was his home.

His brother had his shelf. His sister had her basket. And Half Tail had his container.

The next morning, Half Tail woke up with the dawn. He could hear the wind outside but he felt no draft inside his container. His nest was cozy. Even though he was hungry, he stayed curled up in his nest, savouring the warmth before heading out into the cold winter day. As he lay there, he heard a rattle and he froze. After a long time, he pushed himself through his nest until he could poke his head out the small hole and look out the hole in the blue container.
His nose twitched. He sniffed. He stretched his neck until he could see.
The human had left a pile of peanuts right outside his front hole.

He even had home delivery now.



(Inspired by a true event! All other characterizations are purely imagined -- and occupation is as yet unconfirmed - although the peanuts are disappearing every day.)