Why the Squirrel Has a Bushy Tail – Part Two
by Blanche Day Manos
Squirrel stopped halfway down the tree. Tears stung her eyes. How could ‘Possum say such hateful things? Usually, Rabbit took up for her when Opossum hurled horrid words, but today Rabbit just closed his eyes and sighed.
“I was only trying to be encouraging,” Squirrel whispered.
“Don’t try,” grouched Opossum. “Your ugly tail depresses me even more than the weather.”
A lump rose in Squirrel’s throat. She didn’t know what to say. Raccoon waded into the river. Rabbit turned over and dug a cooler spot in the dirt.
“I’m going to take a nap right here by the water. Go away and leave me alone,” muttered ‘Possum.
Squirrel backed all the way up into the cottonwood’s leafy branches then jumped into a near-by oak where she had her nest. She was hot too, and very tired of Opossum’s insults. Maybe Opossum was right. Maybe her friends had never liked her because of her ugly tail.
Sadly, Squirrel poked at the sticks and leaves she called home. She could leave this part of the forest and try to find another place where nobody else lived. One more jibe from that nasty ‘Possum would be just too much.
Squirrel’s heart felt as heavy as a rock. Didn’t anyone think she had feelings? She didn’t like her tail either but she was stuck with it and, contrary to ‘Possum’s opinion, she felt the heat quite as much as anybody.
Worrying and fretting at last wore her out. She decided that moving was her only option and she would start to her new home just as soon as she had a little nap. Tucking her nose between her paws, Squirrel sprawled on her bed of twigs and closed her eyes.
A terrific boom woke Squirrel. She popped to her feet, hurried to her doorway, and gasped. “Look at the rain,” she said to nobody in particular. “What a storm! I knew that Owl was right.”
The oak swayed and Squirrel staggered. Grabbing a limb for support, she peered down at the once-familiar forest. Her gentle, rippling river had vanished and in its place roared a brown, swirling torrent.
“There must have been a cloudburst up in the hills,” Squirrel said aloud. “I hope all my friends left the river bank long before the surge got here.”
Squirrel was about to scurry to the farthest corner of her home when she heard a voice, barely audible above the pounding of wind and water.
“Help me!” came a faint cry.
Squirrel crept back to her door and, leaning out as far out as she dared, peered downward. A gray, soggy bundle splashed about in the swirling flood.
“Oh, my goodness!” Squirrel squealed. “It’s one of the forest creatures! One of my friends is caught in the river.”
Squirrel eased out of her door and edged down her tree. The oak twisted in the wind but Squirrel clung with her paws and used her strong, stubby tail to brace herself against the oak’s rough bark.
The cry came closer now, “Help me! I’m drowning!”
“It’s Opossum!” cried Squirrel. “Poor ‘Possum is caught in the river!”
(To be Concluded tomorrow)
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