Dilemma

Dear Annie,

While on a walk early this morning, I heard a rustle, and when I turned to look, I discovered two squirrels in someone’s front yard. One was in a tree, and the other, in a trap on the ground. Both were upset, making frantic noises. The caged squirrel was tugging and pushing at the wire mesh surrounding him, and his friend was watching intensely from above, obviously pained. 

I know it is not always the best idea to anthropomorphize animals; however, it was rough seeing this squirrel struggle, and even more miserable watching the frantic concern of his little friend.

Several years ago my parents had a feral cat living in their back yard. They set a trap to catch it, and once captured, the thing hissed and yowled and hurled itself against the cage as if it were demon possessed. My parents were afraid to go near. Hearing the ruckus, our family cat, Macadoodle, decided to scope out the situation. As he approached, that wild beast transformed into a timid little kitten. His hissing now no more than meek mews. Just the presence of another cat, another creature who spoke his language, calmed him down.

I have always had trouble watching animals suffer, even pests. Most girls kill insects, I rescue them, even giant hairy six eyed spiders. So, you can imagine the horror I felt upon seeing this squirrel in a cage. My first instinct was to set it free. I took a step closer, analyzing the contraption. Could I open it? Was it safe? I glanced up to the house. Was someone home? Were they watching? I stepped back as a car passed, embarrassed. Then I turned away and walked up the street a ways. I stopped. It hurt. I wanted to go back. I could still hear their painful sounding squirrel chirps...

At this point, I began to rationalize. We live in a sinful world. Creatures suffer, they die. Besides, a squirrel is nothing more than a bushy tailed rodent. Think about it. What do these squirrels do to warrant a trap being set by their tree? Do they dig up Mrs. Smith’s prize petunias? Do they destroy the lawn in their attempts to hide nuts? Maybe they torture the two year old. Or perhaps they are rabid squirrels, in which case, just opening the cage would put me at risk!

I started to walk further away...

Then again, what if the homeowner is a maniacal sadistic man who loves to torture innocent creatures. Maybe he is a taxidermist and his living room is decorated with stuffed squirrels. Or perhaps he is a mad scientist with a squirrel research lab in his (non existent)  basement. I turned around, with the genuine intent of going back, but instead I hesitated. If, indeed, one of these above scenarios were true, what would the people living in that foreboding house do if they caught me in their front yard, liberating Mr. Squirrel? It was getting late (8am perhaps). Surely these people are awake. They will open that front door any second now to pick up the morning paper, and how embarrassing it would be, for them to discover me hunched over their trap, freeing this little pest.

Alas, I walked away. That’s right, Annie, I turned my back on the squirrels and continued on my way home, their memory growing fainter with each step.  

And then—the watcher at his pulse took fright.
No one believed. They listened at his heart.
Little—less—nothing!—and that ended it.
No more to build on there. And they, since they
Were not the one dead, turned to their affairs.

                   —excerpt from “Out, Out—” by Robert Frost

Love,

Taintedsky