I’m very fond of red squirrels. Their beautiful rusty coats reflect their feisty natures. And though they seem to spend all their time arguing and scolding, they enjoy contemplative moments, and even show a sense of humor. That’s not to say they don’t also enjoy speaking their minds, preferably from a commanding perch in a pine tree. For a long time I had such a tree outside my office and spent many hours watching squirrels going about their business. I saw babies grow into adults and go off on their own. I saw quarreling squirrels survive falls from limbs as they raced from tree to tree. And I once saved a red squirrel from the claws of a weasel who held the struggling squirrel’s hind quarters in his front paws. The squirrel accepted my outstretched hand, I pulled and he pulled on me with a surprisingly strong grip, and he pulled free with considerable relief. The squirrel ran up my arm, onto my shoulder, jumped to the pine, climbed to his favorite perch, and watched as the weasel disappeared under the porch. Later that morning, the squirrel sat on my windowsill and watched me work at my desk. He never scolded me again.

Though I don’t have a tall white pine outside my office anymore, I do have a cluster of stubby jack pines right there on the other side of the window. No red squirrels live in those trees, and though gray squirrels visit the bird feeders occasionally, the jack pines belong to the birds. In winter it’s a haven for chickadees, pine siskins, goldfinches, some sparrows, juncos, and redpolls. In warmer months, a chipmunk climbs to a comfortable perch and watches the passing scene. This week, however, a pair of red squirrels came to visit. After arguing with one another for a few minutes, they studiously ignored one another and settled in to take their fill of spilled sunflower seeds:

 

 
Honor has been established, and face has been preserved, but it’s easier to ignore one another if there’s a convenient tree trunk between you both. Having the pair right outside the window gave me a prime opportunity to get some close-up photos in bright sun, including this super close shot:

 

 
The trees are reflected in the squirrel’s left eye, and you can see how glossy her fur is—red squirrels are rivaled only by chipmunks in their attention to grooming. Harmony doesn’t last long, and once the pair have eaten their fill, they enjoy a vigorous slanging match, with one ready to spring for the trunk while the other perches above:

 

 
The creamy white fur on the underside of a red squirrel contrasts with her rusty flanks, back, and tail, and highlights her intelligent obsidian eyes. And what a tail! It’s long enough to curl up over the back and cover the head, forming a blanket on cold days and a windbreak when facing away from the breeze.

 

 
The winter red squirrel’s wardrobe also sports ear tufts:

 

 
Squirrel ears bear a remarkable resemblance to our own, though most of us don’t grow tufts of fur in winter. Here’s a closer shot:

 

 
Clever design, huh. See how thick the fur is on this squirrel’s paws and back? In a month or two the ruddy fur will become less pronounced, and will thin out to give the squirrels a slimmer appearance. Winter or summer, though, a red squirrel blends in nicely with his environment. This red squirrel’s white belly is visible when seen from this perspective:

 

 
Predators aren’t as likely to see squirrels from this point of view as they are from the back, when red squirrels are well camouflaged against tree trunks:

 

 
I enjoyed visiting with the squirrels. It won’t be long before spring mating season begins, and that’s when the woods on my bicycling routes will reverberate with the heated discussions of squirrels from their high perches. That’s the time when it’s easiest to understand the source of the Norse myth about Ratatosk. But rather than paraphrase her, let Ratatosk speak for herself:

 
What’s that? My name? You think my name sounds funny? Well, I suppose it does—to most humans, anyway. It’s Norse, and it means “swift teeth.” If you’ve ever seen one of us strip the seeds out of a pine-cone, you’ll understand just how good a name it is. Kind of romantic, too, if you know what I mean. Those old Vikings may have had pretty bad table manners, but they had a mighty colorful mythology, and my namesake—the original Ratatosk—was right at the center of it, running up and down the great World Tree, Yggdrasill, carrying insults between the eagle perched on the topmost branches and the dragon gnawing at its roots. It was a great job for a red squirrel, I can tell you.

Me, I lead a quieter life. There aren’t any dragons in the Adirondacks, and I give eagles plenty of space. So I have to settle for chasing gray squirrels off my trees and driving trespassers away from my food caches. It keeps me busy, sure, but I’m never too busy to churr an insult at a passing stranger.

 
Want to know more about red squirrels? Then read “Voices from the Wild: A Red Squirrel Speaks” to hear all about them from the, er, squirrel’s mouth.

 

 
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