Following is a chapter from Tom's new book:
SQUIRRELS AND BLUEJAYS
Heidi, our darling pet, had pets of her own. She got along with every other animal she ever met. We spent a lot of time with Bea and George. They had two much-loved dogs, Tosha and Rambo, and many cats – Kaly, Simon and Snowball: every one of which they rescued from cruelty and abandonment and raised with exquisite care and love. Heidi was always welcome at Bea and George’s. Dogs always sort of spar off and size up one another but then they would settle down for a quiet evening of each other’s company. At first Bea and George used to put the cats in their basement when Heidi would come. She would spend the whole evening with her nose up against the crack of the basement door, communing with them and, no doubt, wondering why they didn’t come out to play. In the later years when they all got used to each other it wasn’t unusual to see the whole gang, three dogs and four cats, sprawled more or less amicably around the living-room.
One animal who impressed her will on Heidi was a cat which belonged to
our friends Hugh and Shirley Jones. Dodie and Shirley had been classmates at
We went down to Hugh and Shirley’s for dinner one evening. A movie had
been filmed in
All of a sudden, this cat, which hadn’t appeared before, wandered into the room. Now Heidi was always boisterous. She stood up, but there was no growling, no curling of lips, no hair standing on end, so it was safe to assume that she was glad to see this little animal. Before I could stop her she bounded down off the couch and raced over to the cat. Bad move. The cat stood its ground, arched its back, hissed and swatted Heidi right across the nose!
Heidi leaped back up beside me, and looked up at me as if to say “What was that all about?” I couldn’t believe my eyes. There were five nails, or quills, or something, sticking out of her nose! I had never known anything about cats, but I now found out that when a cat strikes out in fear or anger the outer covers or shells of its claws will remain stuck into its ”victim” much like the quills of a porcupine. Unlike the quills of a porcupine, thankfully, they don’t have a hook or anything on them and they are very easy to remove. Heidi was not impressed. The cat, having made its statement, had disappeared.
Later in the evening Hughie and I, having grown tired of the movie, went in to the kitchen for a beer and some “man talk”. After a while Heidi wandered in to see what we were doing, but before she came through the doorway she took a very long look both ways!
Heidi did, however, have pets of her own. I have mentioned earlier the lovely porch that projected out from the rear of our apartment. Heidi loved this cool and delightful spot as much as we did. We covered the floor with indoor-outdoor carpet and put a strip of closely-meshed plastic fencing along the bottom of the railing so she would be both comfortable and secure. She spent countless long lazy days out there. We would leave the door open so she could come in for a drink or just to see where we were or what we were doing. Most of the time she spent just snoozing, moving from sun to shade. There were exceptions.
Long before Heidi came, indeed long before the house was even built, the squirrels had inhabited this neighbourhood of stately trees. In huge towering maples, pines, cedars, elms, oaks and locusts they nested and stored their treasures and lived their brisk, energetic lives. Misguided attempts to trap or control them had never amounted to anything and we had always co-existed with them quite happily.
They would zoom through the trees, sometimes eight or ten of them, chasing each other along what we came to realize were regular “skyways”, chattering, scolding, frolicking and just having a great time. As they slowly got used to us they would come ever closer for their treat of a peanut in the shell. Once they had taken it in their paws they would sit back on their haunches and run the shell through their teeth like a buzz saw. Sometimes they would stuff two or three whole peanuts in their mouths and take off like a shot for their secret storehouses in the treetops.
One particularly beautiful squirrel, a gorgeous light grey with a white chest whom we called “Silver” would come right up and sit on your chest and take peanuts out of your pocket.
One evening we were sitting on the verandah when Silver came along. Dodie said “You know what? I forgot to get some more peanuts.” I said “Sit tight, I’ll go get some,” but it was late, most of the stores were closed and it took a while.
When I got home Do’ was still on the porch. “Boy, am I glad to see you! Look at this!” Here was Silver, right up in Dodie’s face, demanding his peanuts.
Another of our backyard cast of characters was a marvelous male Blue Jay. He would land in a tree near the porch and demand peanuts. His raucous voice always reminded me of a rusty and heavily-loaded clothesline pulley. He would shriek and squeak until some peanuts were placed on the rail, then swoop down, instantly pick them up with his beak and then take off. He might take a dozen in one session.
Into this cozy little kingdom came Heidi. She was territorial. Her inbred dislike of small furry rodents was not amenable to squirrels. She almost never barked, but when she saw squirrels would she ever bark! At first they were frightened and would make long and dazzling detours over walls, railings and roofs to get around her. They soon realized that in this case she was “all sound and fury, signifying nothing” and they would soon come in quite close.
They got to where they would sit on the fire-escape just outside the gate where they knew she couldn’t get at them. She would bark and charge the gate so hard that the whole thing shook. I padded the gate with foam rubber to cushion the shock so she wouldn’t injure herself.
While all this was going on “Squeak”, the Blue Jay would come along and help himself to the peanuts! I began to see where the great cartoonists got their ideas for “Sylvester”, “Wiley Coyote” and the Road Runner. I thought, “Wouldn’t it be great to get some photographs of these guys?” So out came the trusty Minolta and all the other paraphernalia.
Now came a problem. Cameras require light and for fast-moving subjects like puppies, squirrels and blue jays they need lots of light. I was a fairly competent photographer, but it was shady out on that porch and I just couldn’t seem to get the right combination of lens aperture and shutter-speed to achieve the results I wanted.
Do’s family had recently purchased a “point-and-shoot” camera for their mother. It was a Minolta Freedom 90 with a “zoom” lens and fully automatic focusing. Esther gladly lent me the camera and I cunningly set the stage for one of the great photographic coups of my career.
Early one summer evening when the light was as good as it could be on the verandah I carefully set the scene. I put a chair for myself on the up-sun side, put a tv-table beside it and set the camera on the table. Then I laid a string of peanuts (in their shells) along the wooden railing of the porch. As I was doing this, as usual, I heard both the chattering of the squirrels and the distinctive “squawk” of the blue jay.
Noises offstage. The cast was assembling! I sat down in the chair, assuming my most nonchalant air, and readied the camera. I zoomed out the lens and focused on the area of the railing where I estimated the best action would occur, then I set the camera down on the little table and pretended to be reading. I knew they were all used to seeing me do this and wouldn’t be “spooked.”
First up the fire-escape was a squirrel. Not the lovely “Silver” but one of the more common black variety; smaller and not so pretty, but just as much fun. He started the proceedings by sticking his head through the gate. Heidi immediately gave her short, sharp “Bark” and lunged for him with that amazing speed and agility that must have enabled her Bavarian ancestors to cope with fierce badgers; but badgers must have been snail-like compared to squirrels because there was never a chance that she would catch him. Having established where Heidi was and what she was doing, the squirrel now made his way up onto the railing, where, in perfect safety, he began to pick off the peanuts one by one.
Heidi ran around the platform, barking and jumping up at him, but she couldn’t hurt him and he knew it. He would pick up a peanut and rotate it through his lips while his teeth ripped through the shell like a miniature buzz-saw. I picked up the camera and took a picture of him. Beautiful. Automatic focus, automatic film advance, ready for another picture. No problem. I set the camera back on the table. The squirrel reached for another peanut, and another, and – “What the hell!” With a mighty shriek down comes the Blue Jay! Wham! He grabs the peanut. The poor squirrel literally leaps in the air. The Blue Jay is gone in a blur of feathers, but the squirrel has missed his footing. He falls off the railing and almost on top of Heidi. Like a cat who has been watching gold-fish in a bowl all day and suddenly sees one leap out, Heidi tries to pounce on the squirrel. I actually see why cartoonists draw a fight as a wheel spinning around with arms and legs protruding from it.
I have been so flabbergasted by all this action that I have forgotten about the camera. Just as I reach for it, amongst the barking and chattering I hear a peculiar electro-mechanical humming. I had forgotten something quite important. If you turn one of these cameras on and then do not operate it for two minutes, it will turn itself off to conserve the battery. This it now did. By the time I had switched it on and focused it again everything was over. As another cartoon character used to say, “Curses. Foiled again!”