A Girl Squirrel

A story about an old man, his nephew, and one of his neighbors

A Girl Squirrel

            Joe’s Uncle Hank was a little over eighty years old. He loved to hunt and lived in an old house down on the corner of Hickory and Main Street just at the edge of the New Hampshire town.  His huge back yard was over an acre in size and had what was left of the Old ‘Smittie’ River at the edge of his property with a ridge that jutted up about fifty feet across the water. There was only one big oak tree left back there, the price of the wood was more than Hank could resist. His house was located just inside the outskirts of the township but a lot of his back yard was not, especially down by the river where he had a small shooting gallery set up.

            There were about a dozen oak trees before the loggers came. In the late afternoons, after trees were felled to the ground and their limbs trimmed, indigenous squirrels would rampantly run from trunk to trunk, searching for what was left of their homes, and they made prime targets. Hank sat on his back porch, shooting the darting squirrels with his lever action .22 rifle to start. And he was able to bag dozens of squirrels as his back yard was cleared by the people that purchased the oak trees. Hank’s collection of squirrel hides had grown substantially when the county sheriff finally paid him a visit one day. After Hank was reminded that he could not discharge a firearm within the city limits, namely from his back porch, he set up the firing range that consisted of an old, beat up table and stool that started thirty yards or so from the house. As the trees got cut down and the trunks were hauled away, more squirrels were bagged and more hides were added to the collection, and the old decrepit table and stool, housing ammunition and a skinning kit, moved closer and closer to the river.

            Finally the logging company had cut down all of the oak trees in Hank’s back yard except for one. The huge old oak was about twenty yards from the river and it had a trunk about ten feet in diameter. Its long, thick branches extended for what seemed twenty feet out from the center, appearing to be horizontal trunks themselves. The old giant was estimated to be over eighty years old at least, and Hank just couldn’t let the lumber company take it despite the amount of money they offered; he’d collected plenty from all the other oaks already cut down. Plus there were no more squirrels running to and fro, frantically searching for what was once their home in the oak trees.

            Hank set up a couple of targets at the edge of the river where he did his practice shooting. Autumn rolled in and the temperature in the area dropped as the leaves fell from the enormous old tree onto the ruddy old table and stool. As the Thanksgiving Holidays approached a light cover of snowy white covered the river bank, Hank’s front yard, and the old table. It was in the afternoon of the day before Thanksgiving that Joe and his wife Trudy knocked on the old man’s front door.

Hank opened the door dressed in coveralls unbuckled from his shoulders that revealed a stained, white tee shirt and his feet were in ruddy slippers. His cheek was saturated with his rough, grey beard that had a smattering of black that his whiskers once were, and his eyes were bleary and unfocussed. Recognizing his only nephew, Hank toothlessly smiled for Joe, opening his arms for a brief embrace. Trudy fully hugged the old boy, giving him a sloppy kiss on his fuzzy cheek. After leaving her embrace Hank looked down at Joe’s little woman and smiled joyously at the realization that she was with child. He led the couple into his large living room and motioned for them to sit down. Hank offered ice tea and rushed to his bedroom to put a shirt and some shoes on.

Looking around, Joe saw that even though his uncle’s house was fully furnished with aging furniture there were many boxes and junk stuffed into various corners, covered with blankets. The living room and the kitchen areas seemed clean enough and in well order. Joe and Trudy had come to try to convince the old fellow to move into a rest home where he wouldn’t be all by himself and where there would always be someone there to cook his meals and see to his needs. This was a semiannual ritual that Hank always saw coming and was always able to refuse by showing that he was perfectly capable of taking care of himself. Of course seeing Joe and his wife off and on every six months was always welcome, especially now that Trudy was expecting.

“Well now, let’s see what we got here, now.” Hank spoke to the refrigerator and the pitcher and ice cubes in the glasses as he filled them with tea. “I reckon there’s still some of that pound cake I got at the store the other day. Ya’ll caught me off guard today, but I’d love to take you two eat over at Miss Charlene’s steak house tomorrow night for Thanksgivin,’ wadda’ ya’ think?”

“Oh that sounds great, Uncle Hank.” Trudy stood up and helped her aged uncle to set the glasses down on coasters set out on the coffee table in front of the couch. She was showing but her belly hadn’t become so large that she couldn’t move as quickly as she could when she was back in school. “Joe and me was wondering if maybe we could cook up a turkey dinner here in your house, just like in the old days. Wouldn’t that be nice, dear?” Trudy sat next to Hank with her glass of tea held closely over her lap, her eyes smiling.

The old man cleared his throat and sat back into the couch, leery of Joe or Trudy’s meddling into how he had set up his house and his furniture. “Well I don’t know, sugar. This old house sure needs a going over with a broom, but I ain’t got no taters or stuffin’ or nothin’ like that. It would be easier to just …”

“Now you just don’t worry about that, Uncle Hank.” Trudy continued, setting her glass down and putting her hand on Hank’s shoulder. “It won’t be any trouble to cook the taters and stuffing at my house. I want to cook the turkey here and clean up your kitchen for you. Joe and I reckon that’s the least we could do for you, especially after all the good times we’ve all had in this house.”

She had a good point. Trudy and Joe were sweethearts from high school, and when Joseph was a little boy he’d spent many a summer with Hank and his late wife Mary; Mary had passed away when Joe was nineteen, almost twelve years ago.

            “Sure Hank, and we can clear some of this stuff out of the way and help you set things up in here right, the way it should be, like Aunt Mary would want you to.” Joe’s words drew a tear from old Hank’s eyes, and he internally relented to let his nephew and his niece help him out, along with celebrating the Thanksgiving in the old place one more time after so long. “And maybe we can get some of the old gang to join us. Like old Bobby Joe or Luke from down at the legion hall.”

            There wasn’t any need to bring any outsiders into his home and let them see how he was getting along in his old house all by himself. Looking into Joe’s face and seeing Trudy’s beauty as her body produced another member of the family, Hank mentally conceded to allow himself go to the rest home eventually; maybe after Christmas. After all the summer was over, most of the trees were gone from the back yard, just like all the squirrels. Every time Hank stepped out into the back yard he became filled with a sense of emptiness when he looked around at the grounds that once seemed like what the land had been like before the sprawling city squeezed the forest down into the ol’ ‘smittee’ river. Apparently in his old age Hank had made some bad choices as far as his property and the way he’d conducted himself. Hank unconsciously pouted, and he fought to not let his eyes tear up even more.

            “Can we have some mincemeat pie?” he asked. Trudy sighed and smiled, rapping her arms around the old man’s shoulders. Joe stood up and took a big drink from his tea.

            The next day Hank’s old gas stove was fired up and a big nine pound bird went inside, all dressed up for bear. After putting the turkey in the oven Trudy bounced back and forth from her little cottage out in the country to Hank’s place to get the mashed potatoes, sweet potato casserole, and pumpkin, mincemeat, and apple pies while Joe and Hank moved all of the junk, old pictures and clothes and books and records and stuff, out of the two unused bedrooms to the already full garage. Afterwards Joe and Hank took a walk out into emaciated the back yard and set up the targets near the river, under one of the huge boughs of the old oak. As the afternoon wore on loud pops and cracks went out into the sky as Hank’s old .22 fired again and again into the target, renewing the old man’s reputation of being a crack shot. Hank gave Joe the same old advice he’d always given to Joe as a boy, and Joe finally allowed the spacing of the bullet holes to become as tight as his Uncle Hank’s; Joe had a reputation of being a crack shot as well.

            The sun was just starting to edge onto the evening horizon when Trudy opened the back door and hollered to ‘come and get it!’ The turkey was juicy and good. The taters and the stuffing and the greens were excellent. And afterwards the pie and the wine put old Hank to sleep in his easy chair as Trudy and Joe cleaned up. After an hour and a half Hank woke up to see Joe sitting at the dinner table with a beer in his hand and Trudy sound asleep on the couch. Sitting up and rubbing his eyes, Hank smiled for Joe as a deep, guttural belch emerged in his throat, and both men softly laughed. Standing up and rubbing his engorged belly Hank saw a flash of light brown zip down the hallway behind the television stand. Walking over towards the hall Hank saw the flash of brown again and an unforeseen, unwarranted rage drew up in his mind.

There was actually a squirrel loose in his house! After all the squirrels in his back yard had been thoroughly eliminated, one of the little varmints had actually invaded Hanks home! The little brown rodent scurried up the hall towards Hank and zipped to his left and under the couch that Trudy was sleeping on. Grunting, Hank stalked to the back door to get his .22 but it occurred to him that there wasn’t any ammo left, he and Joe shot it all at the river earlier in the afternoon. He stopped short in front of his bedroom, and as Hank saw the confounded critter scurry from beneath the couch to under the table and behind the big bookshelf where his beloved Mary’s picture was displayed on the top shelf, he went into is bedroom closet and grabbed his old Army .44 muzzle loader pistol.

“What is it Uncle Hank?” he heard Joe ask from the living room. But the inexplicable wrath that invaded Hank’s mind was completely centered on the invading rodent, the surviving varmint from the forest of oak that had been hauled away, just like Hank’s youth. Pistol in hand Hank stormed back out to the living room and he seemed to be leveling the barrel right at Joe’s head when the flash of brown scurried near the kitchen cupboard and the six shooter’s barrel roared into life, loudly shooting a hole into the lower door of the cabinet. The noise was deafening, frightening Trudy into wakefulness and Joe into a defensive posture behind the couch.

Old Hank yelled in anger as he followed the fleeing squirrel with the barrel of the antiquated weapon, literally pointing it at Trudy’s terrified form for an instant before the barrel lowered and fired again, this time under the easy chair that Hank had woken up from minutes before. Trudy screeched in terror as the little brown creature rushed from the easy chair to beneath the dinner table where Hank shot the weapon for the third time. The terrified squirrel rushed from beneath the table and back into the kitchen where it found refuge inside the hole that had just been blown in the door of the cabinet, and Hank fired the weapon for the fourth time, the bullet going right into the center of the hole the verminous critter had just jumped into. Cocking the pistol again Hank stood over the cupboard, waiting for the squirrel to emerge.

Trudy had joined Joe behind the couch, crying and clutching herself as Joe carefully stood up, calling his uncle’s name again and again. The squirrel finally showed itself and Hank pulled the trigger but the antique pistol misfired; one of the caps had inadvertently dislodged, and luckily only five of the six chambers of the pistol were loaded.

“Damn!” Hank yelled as he raised the pistol and examined the hammer. The squirrel rushed out of the cabinet and scurried back down the hall, hiding in Hank’s bedroom, likely back into the closet where it had been since Hank and Joe had moved its normal hiding place, one of the boxes in the extra bedroom to the garage. Looking around and seeing Joe cowering behind the couch, Hank finally realized what he’d just done and he dropped the pistol to the floor.

“My god, are you alright Joey?” the old man asked as his body began to tremble, the adrenaline level in his body dropping. “My god!”

 Joe stood up and reached down for Trudy who was sobbing on the floor. She apprehensively raised her head above the back of the couch and seeing the pistol laying on the floor, she stood up.

“Jesus Christ, Hank! What in the hell were you thinking?” Trudy’s normal sweet voice had changed to an angry accusation. “You know you could’ve shot me?!!!”

“I didn’t realize what I was doing.” Hank replied, rubbing his forehead and slowly approaching his niece with a vacant expression in his face. “I am so sorry, Trudy; so sorry.”

Suddenly the elusive squirrel made its return, scurrying back up the hall and behind the couch. Hank’s unreasonable rage abruptly returned, and he yelled as he stepped back to the kitchen to retrieve the pistol. He started to stalk to the back porch where he kept the reload kit for the pistol. Joe stepped in front of him and grabbed the unloaded weapon in Hank's hand.

“What in the hell are you doing, Hank!??” Joe yelled into the fury of his uncle’s face. “Haven’t you scared us enough? Are you trying to kill me and my wife, you a*****e!!??”

“No, No, I’m trying …” Realization crossed Hank’s face again. He looked down at the gun and back over at how upset Trudy was as she still cowered behind the couch. “…I’m going after, …”

I’m going to shoot the …” Hank’s eyes closed and he leaned against the wall. “The squirrel.”

And Hank burst into tears, deep anguished sobs. All the years of solitude, all the lonesome nights and mornings and afternoons flooded into his mind and out of his eyes with his tears. All the time he had on his hands all alone after his beloved Mary had left him with little but his back yard, his .22 rifle, and his ability shoot squirrels as he was so adept at in his youth. Hank collapsed to the floor, exhausted from the intense rage that overcame him and as abruptly left him. He handed Joe the pistol and staggered back to the easy chair that now had a large bullet hole in the back of, but it supported his weight nonetheless.

Placing the pistol above the refrigerator where it couldn’t be seen, Joe sat back down on the couch near his weeping uncle and Trudy sat next to Joe on the other side. Hank began blubbering about the solitude, about the empty days and nights, sobbing as he talked about how good he was at ‘killin’ squirrels.’ As Hank went on and on, crying and speaking about his late wife, the escaped squirrel suddenly appeared, sitting quietly atop of the back of the couch. The creature did not flinched when Trudy saw it, but slowly crept down to the arm of the couch, its tail moving up and down in a circular flourish. The squirrel sat on its haunches and curiously looked up into Trudy’s eyes. Then the little squirrel began to speak, to click and squeak in a tiny, quiet voice as it seemed to stare deeply, eerily into Trudy’s eyes.

Hank’s dismal weeping turned into a sad silent bout of tears, and Trudy nudged Joe to get his attention as the squirrel slowly crawled over to sit on Trudy’s lap, still softly clicking, almost chirping like a bird as it continued to gaze mysteriously into Trudy’s face. It was if the creature could tell that Trudy was not only going to have a child, but that the squirrel didn’t have to fear Trudy, that Trudy wasn’t going to level a muzzle loader pistol and try to blow the squirrel away like Trudy’s uncle had done to so many of the squirrel’s kin. The squirrel did not flinch when Trudy lifted her hand to reach over an stroke the apparent female creature’s back, and the squirrel leaned its head to the side, laying its body down onto Trudy’s leg as it seemed to embrace Trudy’s thigh, squeaking softly and closing its eyes.

Hank wept for a few minutes and subsequently fell back into a deep sleep on his old easy chair. Joe watched the squirrel and her apparent befriending of Trudy. Suddenly the little creature stood back up onto its haunches and started speaking; squeaking and chirping, again looking deeply into Trudy’s eyes as if it were pleading with her. It took a moment but Trudy connected with the little squirrel and what Trudy felt she was pleading for. The squirrel wanted to be taken to where there were other squirrels, to where she could find a mate and raise pups and live freely without having such a menace as an old man with a knack of killing squirrels with a .22 rifle. Trudy’s face became a study of understanding for the squirrel as she scampered up onto Trudy’s shoulder, clutching onto her once again in an apparent embrace. Trudy reached up and pet the creature again, assuring her.

Joe and Trudy drove the squirrel to Trudy’s little cottage outside of town where there was plenty of trees and bushes, and where there were no hunters that had a thing for shooting squirrels to display proficiency at target shooting. When Joe’s old pickup pulled into the driveway the squirrel scampered down to Trudy’s hands, and Trudy held her until Trudy stood up and left the cab of the truck in the darkness, setting her down in safety next to Trudy’s front doorstep. The squirrel sat on her haunches, sniffing the ground and then sniffing the air. Trudy’s heart melted as she squeaked once and scampered up a nearby tree and disappeared.

The next morning the squirrel was in the same tree, watching Trudy with the same mysterious gaze while she watched Trudy stretch in the morning sunshine. And then she squeaked, turned on her little claws, and dashed of into the woods near Trudy’s house.

Trudy saw squirrels in the following days, weeks, months, and years. She was certain that the little squirrel that was isolated in her uncle’s house to the point of giving in to her fear and death to allow Trudy to transport her near Trudy’s house. The little female creature never had the need to stare into Trudy’s eyes again the way she had that Thanksgiving night, filling Trudy with love for squirrels and for nature, but also for her husband Joe and for her Uncle Hank.

Hank found that life in a rest home infinitely betther than living alone. His house and the property near the river ultimately became a city owned park where all manner of trees and bushes were planted beneath the enormous old oak tree, and where hunting was prohibited.

 

SR Urie

Reviews

[A.Lee]

“No, No, I’m trying …” Realization crossed Hank’s face again. He looked down at the gun and back over at how upset Trudy was as she still cowered behind the couch. “…I’m going after, …”
I’m going to shoot the …” Hank’s eyes closed and he leaned against the wall. “The squirrel.”

This scene, in my opinion, really solidified Hank's character. The way he tried to explain what he was doing as he realized what was happening... really good job. All of the characters had depth to them and I enjoyed your writing style. Nicely done!