I’m standing back from the glass door. The squirrel on the fence can’t see me, I don’t think. He’s looking for the dog that will take possession of the area the moment he is set free. The dog wishes he Had authority over everything he can see, even the tree tops.
The squirrel is one of many, so they trade-off on their harassment duties. I can’t tell one from the other. I’m not sure McBark, the dog, can either. Perhaps that’s not an issue for him.
The fence is six-foot one-by-fours, the one being the thickness of each board. One day last week the squirrel on duty missed his trick, and landed on his back. His escape was very close – inches at the most, by the skin of his teeth, one might say.
If squirrels have poets in their mist, the fortunate one might have told the others, “yep, I’ve lived to play another day.”
[McBark, a dear and loyal friend, passed on several years ago. I insert him into a story now and again in order to keep his memory alive, as it were.]
<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/lookin-out-my-back-door/”>Lookin’ Out My Back Door</a>