I just spent a wonderful long weekend with my sister and her son, Beau, “up north” at my parents’ cabin. Stubby the red squirrel is doing well. Since the tragic loss of the end of his tail (and his subsequent unofficial adoption by my mother), he has flourished. The end of his tail, while still cut off at a sharp angle, has sprouted an impressive line of dark fur, and he looks dapper, sitting on the railing, shaking his tail and showing off his new plumage. Mom still dutifully feeds him every day, usually bird food, although he recently had some leftover pasta shells, which he seemed to enjoy very much. Even without my mother’s offerings, he is kept busy this time of year with pine cones and acorns and the many other good things there are to be found in the forest. My mother is an intrepid gardener, braving the cold temperatures, lack of sun and marauding forest wildlife to keep the flowers in her many flowerpots growing and beautiful for much of the year. It is a neverending job, as the deer and, more recently, the wild turkeys love the tasty treats she has cultivated and placed around the house like a free salad bar. A pack of turkeys decimated her begonias earlier in the fall. She sent me a photo of her begonias, pre- and postturkey invasion, and it was not a pretty sight. My sister brought the family dog, Mabel, who gets along well with my parents’ cat, Katie, and Mabel kept the turkeys and deer at bay. But that didn’t mean we were free of animal drama. My nephew and my dad went down to haul in the dock before the lake froze. My sister and mother and I followed them down to the water’s edge, where we discovered the site of a recent raccoon feast. “They must have been eating crayfish,” my father guessed when he saw the enormous pile of fragrant poop at the end of the dock. “Oh, no!” I yelled, because -- at that moment -- Mabel discovered the pile of poop and was eating it as quickly as she could.
