Submitted by Donna O on
I had to look in my battered old King James Bible for the date of his death...February of 1960....over 45 years ago. That's why I was enraptured last night when a soft explosion of grey fur landed on my shoulder and began to nibble gently on my earlobe.
You've heard of the mystical bond that is often formed between "a boy and his dog"? Well, in my case it was a girl and her.....well, let me tell you about Peri.
I was a very naive and innocent seventeen-year-old, and Peri was three ounces of pure playfulness, artfully packaged as a bright-eyed-whose-tail-was-a-wonderment-to-behold flying squirrel.
When I first saw him he was a bedraggled mite, eyes sealed shut, lying in my stepfather's hand. We didn't think he'd make it through the night, but with a heating pad and a doll's bottle, somehow the little guy survived. And guess who he imprinted on? Me. I was his mama. I carried him around in my bra tucked between my breasts, where he snoozed until he got hungry. Then he'd crawl up to my shoulder and make those little "tchtch" noises until he was fed.
He soon graduated to nuts and seeds and anything else he could get his mischievous little paws on. He had the run of the house and no draperies or cabinet tops were safe from his aerial assaults. He hid nuts in pockets and behind books and under chairs. He "flew" constantly, swooping and sailing from one room to another.... sometimes overshooting his designated landing site and having to be ignominiously fished out of the dishwater.
At night he would scrabble up the foot of the bed, under the covers, and work his way up the length of the bed to my shoulder, where he'd busily build himself a nest in my hair. I often got miffed at his incessant scrambling around and would grab him and throw him across the room. To him that was the height of hilarity, and he'd soon be right back on my shoulder, arranging my hair into his squirrelian conception of the perfect slumber chamber. Then he'd sleepily "tchtch" into my ear a few times and settle down for the night.
He taught me to play a game that he could have played for hours. The game went like this. The house we lived in had a long hallway, leading to the bedrooms, which had a closet about midway down. He would hide in the closet, and I would come walking down the hall. He'd run out, run up my leg, and scramble up my body until he got to the top of my head, and then run back down and hide in the closet again. He'd peek his head out and look at me as if to say "Okay, now you go out, pretend this never happened and come walking down the hall again." He'd do this 10 or 15 times in a row until I'd lose interest. Peri NEVER got tired of the closet game.
I'll never forget the time my stepfather's elderly mother visited us and was given my bedroom for the duration. We awoke one night to piercing screams and a quavering voice hollering "Raymond! Come get this RAT out of the bed with me!" Peri was, of course, just observing his usual routine of nightly nest building, and figured one head of hair was as good as another.
Looking back I realize that this was a magic time...and a magical bond between a girl and a squirrel. I never thought it would end. But one fateful night I went out on a rare date with a boy and his car broke down. I finally had to call my stepfather to come and get us. The boy was so embarrassed, and I was scared to death at missing my curfew. My stepfather took the boy home and as we drove home he said, "Well, while you were out screwing around, your squirrel drowned in the toilet."
I was shattered...first of all at the cruelty of his words since I was as virtuous as only a Southern Baptist girl can be. The callousness with which he informed me of my loss haunts me still. If I just hadn't gone out, it wouldn't have happened. Maybe I left the lid of the toilet up. I blamed myself over and over. And to this day I cannot see a picture of a flying squirrel without a deep sense of loss. Peri the Flying Squirrel, who had a teenage girl for a mother. Builder of hair nests, swooper from the drapes. I loved him so.
And last night he came to me....maybe it was a dream. But there he was....his grey fur so soft and delicate, his plumed tail so fine and fluffy, his eyes so bright and intelligent. And there in the darkness in that zone that lies between asleep and awake, a little squirrel once again tried to build a nest in his mother's hair.