The squirrel. She was staring at me. Friendly like and I didn’t want to become buddies with her. Because I could be her home wrecker.
And why’s that?
Because she has built a nest in the back of our stack of firewood. I’m not sure how far back, even though I’ve repeatedly warned her to build the nest behind the last row of wood. I’m presently at row five.
You see, I don’t want, one day, to remove some firewood and expose her nest.
At this point, you might ask, how many people in this world worry about getting too emotionally close to a squirrel because they risk being a squirrel home-wrecker?
I went shopping. I took my grocery list. The grocery list had, in the past, been stapled to something else. In the grocery store’s meat department it got stapled to my finger when I took it out of my pocket. My finger was still bleeding as I paid the cashier. Not a good omen.
So I said, “Bite me.”
I dropped into another establishment. A woman walked in. I couldn’t put a name to her face. I finally did. I said her name and then I said the name of her husband, because I knew him and I made this connection out loud. That’s a no, no.
My comment was overheard and I was suddenly a chauvinistic pig.
The Baddeck Timmy’s is inundated by construction and it’s a real hassle to find a parking space and anyway, sometimes when I feel overwhelmed by the bull crap in my culture I like to visit a reserve.
So, I drove the extra twenty minutes.
Guess what? The Tim Horton’s was closed. The sign said it was closed due to lack of water.
The sign also said that it might be open around two pm. How much around?
I waited for the flag person to wave us forward and then waited for a second flag man to wave me into the parking lot. Where there was no room for my truck at the inn.
However, they have a drive-through, so I drove up to the little box in which a tiny person lives. The wee person asked me what I wanted. I ordered a small Iced Cap.
There were no vehicles ahead of me. This probably meant I’d get speedy service. That was a problem.
I followed the directions from the little woman and drove up to the window.
Well, as the day had already gone so well, I tried to make it even better, by parking my truck too far from the take-out window.
A server poked her head out of the window and informed me that I owed her two dollars and seventy-five cents. I tried to stuff my hand into my pants pocket so I could dig out my wallet. My wallet wouldn’t move.
I dug and dug. Pulled and pulled. At one point, I turned to the server, who was trying not to look amused and I said, “Thank-you for you patience. The money will be with you as soon as I can pull the $%^&*() wallet out of my $%^&*( pocket.”
Which I finally did. I then leaned out of the truck window while she balanced out of her own Tim Horton’s window and we made the exchange.
I stopped. I waited while I clutched the bills and my change in one hand. My wallet rested on the passenger seat.
The construction man, who was a man, gave me the okay to drive onto the highway. I had an instantaneous panic attack, because I couldn’t remember which lane I was supposed to get into.
When I arrived home, I looked at the woodshed and I thought about my day and about the squirrel. And I thought that I could’t be a really mean chauvinistic pig if I worried so much about the welfare of the squirrel, who I assumed was a she, and who lived in our woodshed.
I immediately thought, “Is it my shampoo, my underarm deodorant, my mouth rinse, toothpaste, hand soap?”
I looked at her and waited for her to explain.
She said, “You smell like firewood.”
I immediately wondered. Is she smelling the squirrel’s shampoo, underarm deodorant, mouth rinse, toothpaste, hand soap, acorn body wash?
Only in Cape Breton.
Thus sayeth Larry