The weather in Sacramento is slllloooowwwwlllllyyyyy turning into fall. The mornings are a little more brisk, the leaves are swirling down like snow flakes, and the evenings leave a faint trace of burning fires. The daytime, however, is still perfectly warm. Today I walked over to Capital Park on my lunch hour to enjoy a chicken salad sandwich, alone, on a park bench. I was planning on reaching my Bible but of course I called about three people and left desperate messages before finally settling in and picking up the Good Book. (I am such a procrastinator when it comes to reading my bible! Sheesh! If I call you on my lunch break, don’t pick up!!)
Back to the point of the story, which actually has nothing to do with my Bible. It has to do with squirrels and why I hate them. I actually have a fear of squirrels which started my freshman year of college when one of my girlfriends told me that her dad once shot a squirrel and when it died, a bunch of live baby squirrels climbed out of its stomach. Every day when I walked back from the DC to Page Hall, I couldn’t help but think of the nasty squirrel story.
On Capital Park, the squirrels are vicious. Everywhere you look on the lawn there are squirrels– and for some reason, as soon as I walk into that park, they’re attracted to me like a baby to a pacifier. They circle me like prey, waiting like begging dogs for a drop of sandwich to fall. They inch closer, and closer, and closer until I whimper. The lady at the next bench over mutters, “Stupid squirrels.”
“YES!” I yell. “YES! Do you hate them too?!?”
I don’t know what comes over me, but I start to hiss a little bit. I shoo. I fake stomp. The squirrels are not yet fearful. That’s when this game becomes dead serious. I pick up the Watchtower in Espanol (thank you Jehovah’s for leaving me something that’s useful in this moment) and I throw that pamphlet as hard as I possibly can until the squirrels shriek and run up the nearby tree.
Satisfied, I settle into Proverbs.