Lexi's Tale (3 page)

I have a cozy hole in a healthy, solid tree. I've only lived here for a few weeks since my former tree was cut down to make way for a new children's play area. I was very upset when I heard from PeeWee that my tree home was going to be destroyed. But as my mother always said,
Even a bad tree can grow a good nut
. For a while, I thought she was talking about nuts. Now that I'm older I know what she really meant—that good things can come out of bad. I would
never have gone looking for this wonderful new hole if my old tree was still standing.

Unlike my old hole, my new home is without leaks and drafts. And I've lined it well with leaves and put all my old treasures inside too. It's impossible to run around a park this large, used by so many careless human beings, and not to quickly begin a collection of lost objects that may become useful. I used to own a couple of books, but once I learned that PeeWee could actually read them, I gave them to him. But there are many other fine items inside my hole: two unmatched mittens, a leather glove, a very soft woolen scarf, a rubber ball, an old wallet, and many other small things that may come in handy in the future.

I nibbled on a dry nut that was in my hole. Then I curled up on top of the wool scarf and
promptly fell asleep. I don't know how long I slept, but suddenly I was jolted awake. I heard the loud barking of a dog at the base of my tree. I knew I was perfectly safe, but still I was curious. I peeked out of my hole.

The barking stopped as suddenly as it had begun. But below me on the ground I could see a very large dog with something in his mouth. I ran halfway down the tree to get a better view. What I saw horrified me: The dog had PeeWee between his jaws.

I raced down the tree, landed with a thud, and ran to nip at one of the dog's legs. But as fast as I moved, the dog moved faster—with poor PeeWee hanging out of his mouth. I decided to run back up the tree and jump onto the dog's back. If I succeeded and landed on top of him, he'd be sure to release PeeWee. I heard a moan come from my friend. If I didn't hurry, he'd be dead before the dog let go of him.

Suddenly I heard a loud human voice shouting. The tone sounded like the command of a dog owner. But the words were ones I'd never heard before. There, running toward the dog, was that same bearded man who had been haunting us all day, the man who had taken our breakfast.

He threw himself onto the dog and grabbed it by the throat. I watched the dog spit out my guinea pig friend and run off with his tail between his legs.

I called out to PeeWee, “Run! Run!” But before there was enough time for him to make any move at all, something else happened. The man bent down and picked PeeWee up. I thought of some words my mother used to say:
Out of the hole and into the dirt
. Until now I'd never known what she had meant.

“Bite him,” I shouted. But PeeWee made no effort to escape. He was shivering with fear.

“It's all right. I'll bite him for you,” I called out, and tried to bite the man in the leg. Instead I found myself with a mouth full of his trousers. The man kicked out his leg and as I let go of his pants, I found myself flying through the air. I landed a distance away and, although shaken, I tried to decide what to do next.

I watched as the man sat down on a nearby bench. He put PeeWee onto his lap and gently stroked his fur.

“Jump! Jump!” I shouted to PeeWee. This was his chance to get away. but instead of moving, I could see PeeWee's body relaxing. He stopped shaking and looked very content to be lying on the man's lap.

“He's not hurting me. He's very gentle,” PeeWee called to me. “And he smells good too. I feel very safe here.”

I was scared for my friend, but angry too. “Why are you smelling him?” I demanded to know. “Come with me right now and I'll find you something that smells good and that tastes good too,” I offered, hoping to make him jump down.

PeeWee still didn't move. “Don't forget—I used to live with human beings,” he reminded me, “in the pet shop where I was born and afterward when I was a pet in a home. That's how I discovered that good people give off good smells. Nasty people have a bad odor.”

“You shouldn't let yourself near enough to a human to smell them,” I warned my friend.

“But this man likes me, and he saved me from the dog,” PeeWee called out happily.

That was true, I admitted to myself. “But who knows what he's going to do to you now?”

“I'm not afraid. I know he won't hurt me.” And as if to prove PeeWee's point, the man continued gently stroking him.

“He may seem good now,” I said, “but we don't know what he's thinking. My mother always said,
Go dig for nuts, don't dig for trouble
.”

“Your mother sure had a lot to say,” PeeWee replied. “And you're always telling it to me.”

“You could do a whole lot worse than pay attention to what she said,” I told him grumpily. “My mother was a very wise squirrel, and I've always followed the advice she gave me.”

All the while we were talking, the sky above us had been getting darker. A strong breeze began to blow and the tree branches were swaying above us.

“It's going to rain,” I told PeeWee. Even as I said it, I felt the first drop on my head.

Instinctively I began digging for a last nut or two to fill my stomach before it began to pour. I knew it would be a warm summer rain, but like any other sensible creature I planned to go to my home to keep dry. Only the ducks and the geese over in the lake look forward to rainy days.

The man got up form the bench and put PeeWee on the ground. He looked around and appeared to be a bit confused. He took his funny cap out of his pocket and put it on his head.

“This is your chance. You must run now,” I shouted to PeeWee urgently. And this time PeeWee followed my advice and rushed, as fast as a slow, fat guinea pig can, toward his hole in the base of a nearby tree.

There was a clap of thunder in the distance. “I hope the man has a dry place to go to,” PeeWee said, shaking some drops of rainwater from his pelt.

“Of course he does,” I replied as I continued to dig in the damp earth. “And if he doesn't have a hole of his own, he can stay in one of the tunnels in the park. That will protect him.”

“Oh, good. I didn't think of that,” PeeWee called out as he slipped into his home.

“See you later,” I yelled to PeeWee as I stuffed a fat nut into my mouth. Then, thinking better of it, I removed the nut and added, “Don't get out of your hole until I come for you.”

I didn't know where the man was going or what his plans were. But in all the weeks that PeeWee had been living in the park, we had managed to keep him hidden from the human beings. It couldn't be good that this strange man knew he was here. And I was determined to do all I could to keep my friend safe from him.

I don't know where PeeWee's rescuer spent the rainstorm or the night that followed. But I do know that the next morning he was still hanging around in our area. I saw him sitting on the nearby damp park bench when I raced down my tree to search for breakfast. The man was watching me as I came down, and he must have recognized me because he began to speak at once. His words were none I'd ever heard
before. I couldn't make out what it was he was saying, and yet somehow I sensed that he was asking, “Where is your friend?”

Of course I couldn't converse with him. And even if I could, there is no way that I would have betrayed PeeWee's hiding place. But a moment later there was PeeWee himself. He seemed to be utterly fearless in the presence of this bearded stranger, and he ran right up to him. The man bent down and picked up my friend.

PeeWee lay contentedly on the man's lap. “Lexi,” PeeWee called out to me, “I can hear his stomach rumbling. He's hungry.”

“What do you expect me to do about that?” I asked.

“We must help him get some food,” PeeWee said. He paused a moment, thinking. “I know,”
he said, “Take something from one of the storage trees. You said yourself that there was so much food there that it was bursting out of the holes.”

“That food is for the feast following the Squirrel Circus,” I said. “It is not meant for hungry humans.”

“He's not just any human,” PeeWee pointed out. “He saved my life. I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for him.”

“Wait a minute,” I shouted. “Don't forget how many times I've saved your life too.”

“Sure you have,” said PeeWee. “And I'm very grateful. But this man saved me yesterday from that huge dog who would have chewed me to bits. I don't think he has a home. I think he's living here in the park like we are. And somehow I think we have to help him.”

“
Stick out your tail and you're bound to fail
, my mother always said,” I told him.

“Lexi, stop quoting your mother and help me,” said PeeWee. As he spoke, he climbed off the man's lap and made a big jump (for him) off the park bench. “
Actions speak louder than words
,” he said.

If I weren't a squirrel, I might have been jealous of PeeWee's strong feeling for his new friend. But squirrels don't bother with jealousy. The world is full of trees and nuts; that's all a squirrel needs, and we don't need to compete for our possessions. So instead I discovered that I was moved by PeeWee's concern for this man who had rescued him.

The stranger seemed to know that PeeWee would return, because he didn't follow him. Perhaps he remained seated because he was
weak with hunger. I, however, ran after PeeWee as he hurried toward the three storage trees. There were several squirrels in the area guarding the food. “Tell them it's okay,” PeeWee shouted to me. As if my words would be enough to convince those hungry squirrel cousins of mine to let PeeWee raid the larder.

Cousin Seventy-four began chasing PeeWee when he saw him sticking his head into one of the storage holes.

“Seventy-four,” I called out, “my friend was just going to help make an inventory of the food we've gathered.” It was a lie, of course, but I was afraid he'd nip PeeWee if I didn't stop him.

“Is an inventory something to eat?” my cousin asked as he turned to look at me.

“No, it's a list of what's there.”

“We don't need any list,” said Seventy-four.

Meanwhile, with Seventy-four distracted, PeeWee had circled around and was trying again to stick his head into the storage hole. He seemed to forget that squirrels have eyes that are positioned in such a way that we can see some things behind us. My cousin took a flying leap and grabbed hold of one of PeeWee's hind legs.

“Ouch!” yelled PeeWee. “He's biting me!”

“A bite is nothing,” shouted Seventy-one, who was nearby. “Wait until you see what Uncle Ninety-nine is going to do to you. He'll have you for dinner.”

It was, of course, an exaggeration. Squirrels, even big fat ones like Uncle Ninety-nine, are mostly herbivores. Meat is not usually a part of our diet.