The Genius of the Tree Rat.

I was watching a squirrel in the Harry Potter wood this morning, walking slowly and carefully along a pencil-thin branch and then leaping with unerring accuracy onto another similarly thin branch on an adjacent tree. And then it turned around and made the return trip with consummate ease. I assumed it was investigating routes through the tree canopy. I remembered seeing another squirrel once walking along a whippy branch that was dipping more and more with each footfall. When it dropped to a point level with a thicker, firmer branch on the next tree, it made the leap and carried on. It seems they know the geography of their habitat supremely well, and are absolute experts at navigating it.

You know, I do realise that squirrels are considered pests for various reasons (a neighbour of mine once referred to them as ‘tree rats’, which I suppose they are in a manner of speaking.) And the grey squirrels are regarded with particular suspicion because they were introduced from America and have now almost totally supplanted the smaller, cuter, native reds. It’s illegal in Britain to release a grey squirrel into the wild. I also have to admit that they irritate me quite badly when they get onto the birds’ feeding tables and scoff all the food.

But we must admire their skills and ingenuity, mustn’t we? The way they navigate their arboreal realm, and the skills they exhibit when so doing, have to be a thing of wonder. I’ll chase them off the bird table when I feel they’ve had enough, but I would never knowingly hurt one.