Chester Tree

A squirrel lives outside our living room window. His name is Chester. I know his name is Chester because I have seen him. If you could seen him you too would know, that is what he prefers to be called. 

Rendezvous Peak - First hike with Ruth and Austin
(photo taken by Ruth. It has nothing to do with Chester)

Every morning before 7:00am he would run—as he had the morning before—across his tree, between the break in the branches, and away into the neighbor’s tree. Gone for the day. Abruptly, I no longer saw him dashing in his usual pattern through the trees. I noticed he traversed the accustomed route in the evenings instead...he must be doing night shifts.

Chester had a girlfriend recently. For at least three days, the two chattered and squeaked incessantly. I heard them as I brewed coffee in the morning, they fussed at me when I got home from work, and they carried on into the night as I fell asleep, praying they would resolve their differences soon.

Now, after several days of silence, I realize it was not a girlfriend but an arch-nemesis, seeking dominion over Chester’s tree. A tree is to squirrel, as a plain is to a lion, or a river bank is to a miner: they each have their claim and no arbitrary hoarder, loafer, or greenhorn is going to take his land from him, be it tree, plain, or bank. 

There is only one squirrel here now, as busy and calculated as ever. 

I know it is Chester and not the other. If you could see him you too would know, this is still Chester’s tree.