Foxy the Testosterone Squirrel

Years ago, when I was a boy of eight years, Dad worked in the woods as a logger. He'd go into the woods at the crack of dawn and cut down trees until he used all the chainsaw mixture that he carried in one of those 3-gallon aluminum gas cans.

One day, he cut an old oak tree down and when he went to trim the limbs, he found a dead mama squirrel. She had one kit in the nest she had built. Dad felt responsible for the death of the mama, so he brought her baby home for us to raise.

That afternoon, he came home and called Jimmie and me to the kitchen. "Look here, boys! Come see what I found!"

Of course, my 5-year-old brother and I went running. Dad always brought something neat home. Arrowheads he'd found. Morel mushrooms he'd come across and us to eat for dinner. Sassafras root for Mama to brew. Even a cool rock or two here and there.

Well, that afternoon was no exception. We oohed and awed over that baby kit. Dad showed us how to feed it with a dropper. We found an old cat carrier to keep the little booger in while he slept. We were so excited that we had a pet squirrel to raise.

Then Mama came home. She worked long hours as a cook at the truck stop off the highway, back then. Lord knew she was worn out already with work and her men folk, as she used to call us. That day was no different. She had stopped off to buy groceries for us, the cat, and the dog.

As soon as she came in the door, Jimmie and I met her. "Mama! Mama! Guess what Dad brought home?" I clamored as soon as she opened the door, not even giving her the time to take her cardigan or shoes off.

"Daddy found us a pet squirrel!" Little Jimmie, who was never very good at playing the guessing game, hollered beside me.

"Oh, he did, did he?" She asked as she hugged us both. I can remember to this day how tired Mama sounded as she placed the groceries on our old scarred-up Formica table. Even with dark circles under her eyes, she was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen, then and now.

We showed Mama the baby. I proudly showed Mama how I could feed it with the dropper. The entire time, Mama said how proud she was of us for being so easy with it. She was looking at Dad though and shaking her head at him. I knew they'd be having a private talk as soon as Jimmie and I were in bed.

I wasn't wrong either. As soon as Mama thought we both were asleep, she started talking. I stayed awake that night to see if I could hear what she had to say. Since our house was tiny, I wasn't disappointed either.

"What were you thinking, Dean? Bringing a wild critter like that home with you?"

"Now, Helen, don't get upset. It's just a baby. What was I supposed to do? Leave it to die?"

"Have you learned nothing? An orphaned squirrel will always be adopted by another squirrel. It wouldn't have died, you're supposed to leave them where you find them, Dean!"

"The boys like him. We'll release him as soon as he's old enough to fend for himself. You know I've always wanted a pet squirrel, Helen."

"I've got enough to do, I don't have time to tend to a squirrel, Dean. I want nothing to do with this. It's not going to end well."

In the end, we got to keep that little red squirrel. Dad named him Foxy, and between us three guys, we fed and cleaned up after the little fella. We must have done a good job because, after two months, he was the biggest, shiniest, and most muscular squirrel I'd ever seen in my life.

Jimmie and I would rush home. Rush through chores. Rush through meals. All to spend time with Foxy. The squirrel loved to hide in our pockets. Soon we had him doing tricks for peanuts. Sit up. Beg. Roll. Even fetch. We'd laugh as that crazy squirrel ran up walls or around on the dog's back. We even made a squirrel tower for him to play and nest in.

Only Mama and the cat didn't seem to like Foxy too well. Looking back, I'd have to say they were way smarter than us. Then, I just thought the cat was evil for wanting to eat that squirrel and that Mama was being completely unreasonable. The worst thing about it all, Foxy wanted Mama more than anyone, especially her hair. Poor Mama would freak out if that squirrel got within three feet of her, hooting and hollering for us boys, come get that "damned critter".

Jimmie, being the hyperactive kindergartener that he was, took Foxy out one day to show his buddy, Patrick. He and Pat played with that squirrel for a good while, I was told. They gave him peanuts for tricks, cuddles for kisses, and then they got sidetracked with the newest episode of Scooby Doo.

Meanwhile, I'm outside with Dad, stacking the firewood we'll be using over winter to keep warm. Dad's busy splitting the wood. I can remember watching my Dad with awe and admiration, just amazed as his muscles rippled and his splitting maul just sliced through the logs like they were butter. I knew from experience it wasn't easy to split oak. Even though I was too young, I'd tried one day anyways, Mama had caught me and gotten onto me and made me swear not to do that again till Dad said I was old enough.

When Mama came in with the groceries, Dad sent me in to help her. I didn't mind. I really liked to see what she bought for us to eat. If we were really lucky, and been really good, Jimmie and I would get a special treat for our school lunches. This week looked like a really lucky one for us, for not only were there pudding tins but also chocolate chip peanut butter granola bars.

Mama told me to take a couple of granola bars upstairs to the younger boys and grab myself one, also. I got so excited, I forgot to tell her that Jimmie had Foxie upstairs. I could hear Mama humming The Old Rugged Cross and puttering around the kitchen, setting the table, boiling water, and stuff, as I took the stairs two at a time. It never even occurred to me that the events that followed would even happen.

Mama was standing at the sink looking out the window she always opened when she cooked. She said she liked the fresh air and the sight always helped her relax after a long day. Dad had just come inside to wash up for dinner when the phone rang. I was to learn later that it was Uncle Don, Aunt Larue had gone into premature labor and they had to hurry and get to the hospital in Rock Hollow. They needed Dad to come to get Nan and take care of her till they could get back. Of course, my Dad would never tell his younger brother no, especially in an emergency, so he hollered upstairs that he and Mama had an emergency at Uncle Don's, and would be back as soon as they could. I could hear Mama behind him, telling him to tell us that she put dinner out on the table for us.

Now, before I go any further, let me quiet some of you restless folk who can't seem to wait to hear a story on out until the very end. You must remember, this was at the end of a more innocent era. A time when you could leave an 8-year-old to watch two 5-year-olds for a couple of hours and know things to be okay. Your neighbors were friendlier and crime wasn't as common back then. It was a time when a man's word was his bond, and that's all he needed to get the credit with the shopkeepers he'd known all his life. This was the time of my youth, not yours. Believe me when I say that the people did change between my era and all of yours. How they did change.

So, as my parents expected, I fed the boys and put dinner away. I straightened up the kitchen. Looking back I'm sure it wasn't too good of a job, but I tried. I ran the bath water and told the boys to wash up and get ready for bed. Jimmie let Patrick pick out a story to be read, which I promptly read and then tucked the boys into bed.

I performed all of Dad's duties he normally performed every night. Checked all the upstairs windows. Then went downstairs and started with the front door and the front of the house. By the time I had worked to the rear of the house and the room where the kitchen was located, I saw the kitchen window was still wide open. As I walked over to close the window, I glanced toward the laundry room and noticed Foxy's cage was wide open. That's when I remembered that the younger boys had had him out earlier and must have forgotten to put him back. I knew right then and there that Foxy must have gotten out of that window way earlier in the evening. I really figured we'd never see that darn squirrel again.

Dad and Mama came in sometime shortly after midnight, Mama was cradling a sleeping 2-year-old Nan. They'd stayed at Uncle Don's house long enough to find out that Aunt Larue was being admitted into the hospital for a few days and Uncle Don was wanting to stay up there with her. So, my parents agreed to bring Nan home with them.

The next day, Patrick went home, and we started getting used to having Nan in the house with us all the time. The first day or two was a little rough. Little girls sure can be whiney and finicky if everything isn't just right for them, I can sure tell you that. But I can also tell you that Mama seemed to really enjoy having a little girl so that she could dress up, comb Nan's hair to put it up in little plaits, and make her dolls that they played with at teatime. Mama was really going to miss Nan when she had to go home.

Well, Nan was only with us for five days, and to be honest, I think we all were going to miss her. We'd all gotten used to having a little girl in the house. Even Jimmie, who asked if he could have a little sister one day. I don't think Jimmie saw the look that Dad gave Mama, but I did, and since I was old enough to remember Jimmie being born, I automatically looked at Mama's belly. I'd not noticed before, but Mama was starting to look like she was carrying a child herself. I made a mental note to myself to make sure to help Mama out with Jimmie more to give her a break so she could rest. For if she was big enough for me to be able to tell, then even I knew she was further along than three months.

Well, it was probably ten days after Foxy had disappeared when he reappeared. I remember it was a beautiful day, so I'd taken Jimmie outside to play on the tire swing our Dad had put up for us when I was younger. We'd only been outside maybe ten minutes when I heard Foxy's familiar chitter and felt him run up my leg. Jimmie saw him and squealed with delight seeing his pet, and grabbed hold of him to pet him and cuddle him.

I knew as soon as Jimmie reached for Foxy something wasn't right. Foxy didn't look like Foxy. Don't get me wrong, It was Foxy, but he looked like he'd been lifting weights. Dad explained to me later, that Foxy had gone out and found a girlfriend, and his hormones had gone out of control causing his body to develop the muscles he did. Well, he didn't just develop muscles, he looked like he'd been playing football with Mean Joe Green, to be honest. That squirrel was huge, with muscles like Andre the Giant on a rodent. It was downright terrifying.

I was moving before Jimmie started screaming and swinging his arm like a maniac. The image of Foxy digging all four paws into my little brother's arms and biting down with his sharp incisors will never leave my nightmares these last fifty years, as I am sure it will never leave Jimmie's either. His screams of terror and pain filled the surrounding hollows around us and echoed back. Everything that followed seemed to happen in slow motion. It was like watching on one of those big movie screens in the theaters, you could see everything, all at once. I could see the blood pouring from my little brother's arm, the tears from his eyes, and I could see my grimy 8-year-old boy's hand reaching out to grab my brother while my other reached for that darn squirrel. I could see and feel that squirrel clamp down even tighter on my brother's arm as I attempted to tug that monstrosity of a pet off as it attacked like a pit bulldog.

Finally, I pulled that wriggling mass of fur off my kid brother's arm and I threw it with all the might I could muster at that moment. Just before Foxy had flipped around and latched onto the tender sweet spot of my hand. That squirrel flew ten feet to the nearest tree, a maple if I recollect right, and somersaulted around like some amazing acrobat, landing on all fours on the side of the tree. Looking over his shoulder, Foxy evilly chittered back at Jimmie and me. Then leaping from the tree, doing a triple backward flip anyone in the Olympics would have been super proud of, that spawn of Satan's rats, with demonic speed set off in pursuit of me trying to carry a poor crying, Jimmy.

Run, Carter, run, he's going to catch us! I can still hear him sob as we crossed the porch. CARTER, CARTER, he's going to catch us As I slammed the door in what used to be the sweetest varmint in the world's face. I stood with my back to the old oak boards, wondering what to do. Then all of a sudden I knew exactly what to do!

I ran to the laundry room and grabbed Foxy's old cage. Taking it into the kitchen, I set it down and dug in the old GE refrigerator to see if we had any fruits or nuts. Mama must have made some fresh trail mix, so I grabbed a handful and placed it in Foxy's bowl. Then I took off running as fast as I could with the cage without spilling anything.

I told Jimmie to go upstairs and stay while I did this. He of course didn't argue just went upstairs. The poor kid looked so dejected walking off wearing just one shoe. Once I heard him close his door I got busy setting my little trap hoping it would work. Leaving the cage open toward our heavy oak front door, I yanked it open, and then quickly hid.

I didn't have long to wait. That darn demonic squirrel came trotting right in as if he'd never run away. He ran right into his cage and attacked the trail mix like he was starving to death. I jumped into action, ran to the cage, slammed the cage's door, and locked it up. Sitting guard, I hollered for Jimmie. Then I waited for Dad to get home.

Dad came home before Mama, as usual, so Jimmie ran and brought him to the front room. He took one look at us boys and one look at Foxy in his cage.

"Well, Boys, Get ya'll's shoes on. Looks like we need to take someone to the State Park, and show him a new home. Can hear y'all's Mama now. Dean, you ain't a killin' that thar squirrel. Ya should have left it as I told ya."

So that's what we did. We drove to the Irish Wilderness. Dad got out of his old Dodge Power Wagon and told us to stay in the cab. We watched as Dad set up a temporary shelter in a tree for Foxy. Then he put some walnuts for that squirrel around the tree, and in the shelter, enough for the winter, hopefully.

Dad came back for the cage with Foxy in it, climbed up the Hickory he'd placed the temporary shelter in, and opened the cage door beside the door to the shelter. Foxy immediately exited his old home and entered his new home.

Dad wasted no time running back to the truck. He tossed the cage in the back. Quick as he could, he jumped into the cab with us, started the engine, and took off. Dad made one stop at the old store before we headed straight home. I got a Grape Nehi, Jimmie wanted an A&W Root Beer so he could get 'drunk', and Dad got himself a Pepsi while the gas attendant put three dollars in the tank of the Power Wagon.

It's been years since Dad had brought Foxy home. I'm reminded of him daily, though. When I go outside, and hear them chittering in the trees on the old family farm. When I visit Jimmie over at his place on the new lots we added to the lot and we see the squirrels gathering hickory nuts. Mama and Dad's new place in town, when we go there for a barbeque, the little varmints get brave. When I take the kids to the park, the long furry-tailed rodents try to steal bits of food from our picnic.

Poor Jimmie still suffers from nightmares about squirrels. His wife told all of us at a family gathering, and he shamefully verified this. Of course, my wife informed everyone I sometimes had nightmares, and when I did she always knew because I always set traps near the house, and whatever squirrels I caught, I would take to the Irish Wilderness or the nearest Mark Twain Forest to release it.

We don't blame our Dad for bringing home Foxy. He just thought it would be a cool pet for us to have. It's not Mama's fault for allowing him to keep it. Neither one knew that Foxy would go feral just with one escape into the woods. I do know that taught Jimmie and I both that we only dog, cat, and fish people. We're just not exotic pet people. We don't like the excitement.