More About the Squirrels

Part Iii. Freedom and Happiness 65

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LIST OF COLOURED PLATES.

The squirrel sprang here, there, and everywhere Frontispiece

The snow was falling so thickly I could scarcely see him 32

I saw them huddled together on the floor of the cage 48

Laurence hid himself in the twinkling of an eye 64

She coquetted with the birds round the drinking pan 80

Seven furry infants!... The heartlessness of it! 96

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FOREWORD.

Amongst the many satisfactions of writing is that of receiving letters of appreciation from unknown friends. From all parts of the United Kingdom, from Canada and from South Africa, animal lovers have written to me expressing their pleasure in reading “How I Tamed the Wild Squirrels,” published in the autumn of 1914 by Messrs. Nelson and Sons, Ltd. The note most frequently struck is that of gratitude for something to think about that had lessened for a while the sadness and depression caused by this terrible war.

That many of these correspondents have asked for more tidings of Fritz and his companions, must be my excuse for putting forth another book about them--again illustrated by Miss Appleton’s clever and delicate pen and brush.

Fritz has now enjoyed the liberty of the garden for four years. His first wife deserted him after the advent--from the country of the Huns--of a fierce little red compatriot, who would brook no rival. She and he have since produced a most charming orange and gray son, who happily shows all his father’s sweet confidence and none of his mother’s truculence.

Young Fritz is now a daily visitor to my bedroom, and, to the joy of our young people, sometimes finds his way to other parts of the house.

Mr. and Mrs. Laurence Housman are rarely seen. Fritz, as the first-comer, has stood his ground and chased them far. Occasionally in bitter weather, or in early spring (when food is most scarce), they will furtively creep back to the old squirrel-house--the door of which is always open--to steal the secreted nuts of the Fritz family. And, as proof of their domestic felicity, comes sometimes a mysterious and beautiful young black-tailed squirrel--a tail orange-tipped, with delicate markings of gray.

Is it possible that these two fiery-red beings have produced a creature so unlike themselves? I think it is. Red-haired human parents sometimes have black-haired children, so why should not squirrels?

In Nature study one is always learning, refuting former deductions and coming to conclusions which, after more patient observation, prove themselves false. Thus I recollect bemoaning my little Fritz’s miserable and mangy appearance in the month of July, after six months of liberty. And I said in “How I Tamed the Wild Squirrels” that I thought these little animals, given proper food and space for exercise, are happier and better off in captivity than when running wild. I have since learned that all male adult squirrels look miserable and mangy in July, because they are then “changing their tails.”

One hears people exclaim: “I have just seen a dear little squirrel. It must be quite a baby, for it had no hair on its tail.” Young squirrels in July, and long before, are very fully furred, and have delightful tails. It is their fathers who are going about thus dilapidated. The mothers change a little later in the year.

But space forbids more on this fascinating subject. My thanks are due to Messrs. Nelson for turning out both books so attractively, and at a price so moderate. And especially are they due to Miss Appleton for her careful and charming illustrations.

Go forth then, little book, with my love to all squirrel lovers young and old.

ELEANOR TYRRELL.

ST. KATHERINE’S, HOOK HEATH, ABOVE WOKING.

Part I. More About the Squirrels.

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MORE ABOUT THE SQUIRRELS.

As I am often asked about the little beasts whose adventures were set forth in “How I Tamed the Wild Squirrels,” perhaps a further account of my furry friends will not come amiss.

I no longer keep any of them confined. After the death of three in the winter of 1914, I resolved that, dear and fascinating as they were as little companions in my room, I would never have them caged and in artificial conditions again.

There are two pairs of Germans loose in our little wood--Mr. and Mrs. Fritz and Mr. and Mrs. Laurence; while the wild Surrey ones, the little natives, come to the garden from the firs on the railway cutting.

There is no doubt that Fritz, the German, with his superior strength and masterfulness, drove away that first little colony which I had tamed so wonderfully. Toto had met a tragic death, killed by a marauding cat. Tito and Tara and the dainty little thing I used to call Miss Fritz after a time took up their quarters elsewhere. I have since come to the conclusion that Miss Fritz was not Miss Fritz--more probably Miss Tito. As she grew to maturity she proved herself entirely a Surrey squirrel. There was no tint of orange or gray about her, and she remained when full-grown as small and dainty as the rest, showing not a sign of the German larger, coarser breed.

Besides, had Fritz been her father, she would not have disappeared from the wood. Young squirrels remain with their parents, I am told, for a year. Fritz had been assiduous in his attentions to a very charming squirrel with a lovely tail, whom for some time I had called Mrs. Fritz, but she too vanished in September 1913 and left him master of the wood.

He became very lonely. It was poor fun to be cock of the walk when there was none to dispute his sway. Consequently, during the autumn, he took to visiting Wych Hill, Hurstgate, and Allen House, where the owners, also admirers of squirrels, were in the habit of hanging out cocoanuts and other dainties to attract them.

It has always been a mystery to me how he contrived to get to these plantations across the heath without being seen. To reach them he had to cross two wide public roads bristling with motor cars, bicycles, errand boys, and dogs. Besides crossing these dangerous zones, he must (unless he went a circuitous route by fir trees, quite a mile round) have traversed an open gorsy heath. Had he his little runs, I wondered, as rabbits have? And how dangerous, with watchful cats and lynx-eyed terriers about! As long as he could keep to the trees he was safe from the latter, but there was no consecutive belt of trees from our place to those I have mentioned. That he arrived there, there was no doubt, for I sometimes found him there myself, and he would come running down the pine trees at my call. Neighbours told me of his fugitive appearances in their gardens: “A large, red squirrel, very strong and active.”

Occasionally he stayed away from us altogether for a week or ten days. Sometimes the food which was placed for him would not be touched, at others it disappeared at midday, showing that he had slept away and come over for it somewhere between eleven and twelve o’clock. When a longer time than usual elapsed without a trace of him in wood or garden, I was perfectly miserable, thinking that the dear, bright-eyed, clever little thing had at last fallen a victim to boys or dogs. And then the joy of his reappearance at my window, as intimate and cocky as ever!

I remember one morning in particular, a soft, sunny, spring-like day in winter, I came into my room to find him, after an absence of more than a fortnight, very hungry and very pleased with himself. He cocked his tail on one side with a rakish air, and pranced over the carpet and up the curtains, in the way he used to do when courting Bunty a year ago, and showed, with all his little squirrel nature, his affection and pleasure at our meeting again. I stuffed him with every dainty I had till he could eat no more, and insisted on hiding the rest in the ivy on the wall, where, as I knew, mice would steal it when night came.

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Meantime Peter and Rufina lived in the big cage on the wall outside my other window.

They never became friends. As I have said in my former book, by the time the latter had been a fortnight in the cage she was completely mistress of the situation. She appropriated Peter’s sleeping-box, she stole all his best nuts, and should he dare to approach her while she was eating, she routed him fiercely. He was thankful when the short winter day was over, and he could sneak behind the curtains in my room and snuggle into his blue serge sleeping-bag, remaining there till next morning.

I must explain that Peter was a little English squirrel, whom I had reared from babyhood. He was now about nine months old. Rufina was a lady, German, bought from Devon and Co. at Bethnal Green. At this time I had had her barely three months.

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