Some friends were heading off on vacation and left us with the keys to their countryside cottage. They mentioned it would be handy if we fancied a barbecue in the open air or needed to do a bit of weeding among the vegetables. You never know when you might need a set of keys to someone else’s place in the country!
This time, the keys were needed specifically for “weeding.” Since everything was already planted, it was crucial to occasionally tend to the garden by pulling out unwanted weeds and hoeing around the bushes.
Before they left, they mentioned there was a creature that sometimes wandered by; they told us not to upset it and to feed it if needed. And with that bit of mystery, they took off for the distant shores of Hawaii.
Initially, I was puzzled about this peculiar relationship with the neighbor. If it’s a creature, then why are we supposed to feed it? Knowing how kind-hearted our friends are, it wasn’t too surprising that they might be feeding a stray or something. In these times, who knows? Maybe it’s a critter, yet a decent one?
So, whether it was watering and weeding or adding some feeding to the mix, it’s all the same to us. If it needs doing, we’ll do it. Perhaps it’s like a watchman?
That very evening, the creature showed up. After a call to faraway Hawaii to verify and describe what had shown up, we confirmed this was indeed the creature. More accurately, its name was Creature.
Creature showed up right at eight, surveyed the garden, settled in the corner, and began to whistle a haunting tune—a song of a creature betrayed and disappointed by life. After hearing its sad refrain, we reached out for clarification.
Creature turned out to be a chipmunk that frequently visited and plaintively whistled for some grub. When asked who gave such a tiny chipmunk such a grand name, our friends exchanged embarrassed glances and mumbled something like, “It introduced itself that way.”
Nevertheless, Creature came by every day, trying to whistle up some food. Much like a roaming minstrel, singing for his supper.
I had seen chipmunks in the forest before and watched cartoons featuring them, but never had one ventured out of the woods, introduced itself, and performed songs specifically for me. It felt as though the chipmunks had been ordered, as in the old joke, “Since there aren’t enough squirrels to go around, it’s your turn to interact with humans.”
On that first evening, we generously scattered a pile of seeds near the porch for him. Creature, seeing the mound, quickly abandoned his song and began frantically stuffing sunflower seeds into his mouth, keen on maintaining a minimal decomposition rate in his cheeks.
As experience showed, the concept of “a big pile of seeds” didn’t exist for him. Any pile was mysteriously transported away within an impressive ten minutes. For each new portion, he returned with sunken cheeks reminiscent of those on an “Effective Diet” book cover; yet after a few swift movements, his cheeks bulged like those of Samantha Fox.
Creature feared nothing—except the possibility that the seeds might run out someday, thus emptying his life’s purpose. As a result, he ensured they never lingered too long on the porch.
…To avoid being bothered by phones, we’d stack them together on the garden table. Always within reach, if needed.
…Predictably, Creature appeared one evening, again showing his admirable punctuality. He disdainfully pawed the wooden porch, then sniffed his finger, and sat down, staring into space. His mood that night was decidedly lyrical. Having visually run through some invisible notes, Creature took the top one and mournfully whistled his “Song of Hunger.”
At that moment, an outdoor phone rang. While I was inside watching TV, I missed his musical call, yet heard the phone. Meanwhile, my wife, who had heard both Creature and the phone, decided the chipmunk took precedence and that I could answer the call. With these fair thoughts, she poured a pile of seeds before Creature. The brazen minstrel silenced himself immediately, grabbing the first load from the heap, though he couldn’t get it to his mouth in time. Just as he opened his gaping maw to store the loot, I appeared on the porch and, without a moment’s hesitation, jumped down. As I sailed over the steps, I sensed something extraordinary was about to happen.
Creature sensed it too, albeit a few seconds later. Within that time, my form landed thunderously on the plank, while Creature froze at the other end, anticipating a feast of praise.
The seesaw effect was breathtaking. Creature, still mouth agape and with hands filled like a market granny’s, soared skyward vertically, disregarding gravity, vanishing into low clouds with a woeful whistle.
I fleetingly noted how chipmunks seemed to be flying these days, perhaps a sign of rain?
Earth respectfully met its son several seconds later. Where he’d been and what he’d seen during that interval, no one knows. Judging by his dilated eyes and his now fluffy and large tail, he’d seen a lot—most of it frightening. Upon landing softly, he dashed under the porch like a commando behind enemy lines.
And left by the porch lay a mound of untouched seeds, a testament to how fleeting art can be.
– “He won’t be back,” was the consensus. Indeed, who would return after an unauthorized trip to the stratosphere?
Unexpectedly, a wave of melancholy hit me. I crouched beside the seed pile. No, he surely wouldn’t return. Automatically, I picked out a large seed from the top, pinched it between my fingers, and crunched it loudly.
Underneath the porch came a disgruntled whistle. There stood Creature, pawed like a sumo wrestler ready for battle, rocking slightly, gazing at me with fierce black eyes. “You won’t get my seeds!” his eyes conveyed. And much more I gleaned about myself through his gaze.
I still marvel, how do chipmunks come to know such expressions?!
