The Creatures Of Our World

First day back at school for our granddaughter. A week late this year, since the Upper Canada School Board decided, unlike the Ottawa-Carleton School Board, to have the children return after Labour day, and to have fewer Professional Development days interrupt the school year; a nice compromise, with a PD day before the start of school. She was apprehensive about returning to school, although she was also looking forward to returning. She had prepared her backpack with everything she needed weeks earlier.

She carefully selected the clothing she would wear, first day of school. And included a new bead necklace she had made the day before, because it matched the top she would be wearing, over new jeans. And, she told me, she packed her lunch; tuna, crackers, fruit juice and a peach. She was so nervous she hardly ate any breakfast; a glass of orange juice, and another peach. And then, everything was such a rush at school she wasn't hungry enough to eat all of her lunch, though she did eat the tuna and the peach.

The day went quickly, she said, and they were very busy. She can't stand this new teacher's voice; it tunes her right out. Good thing, she said, that everything is written on the chalkboard and she takes her instruction from what's written there. She's impressed that her teacher has carefully planned out the curriculum she will use for this new school year, and has decided to set aside a few approved books because she feels there's a better way to negotiate her students' understanding of several signal topics.

She brought home a load of homework, just as she feared she would have to. Her teacher, she said, addressing the class, admonished them all to get their work done early. They were to have a snack soon as they reached home, then set aside time to tackle their homework, ensuring it would be completed before dinnertime, giving them ample time in the evening to do other, more preferential things of their own choosing. Our granddaughter does that, in any event, and she proceeded to work her way through her homework accordingly.

She said she was busy after dinner programming her mother's new cellphone. Her mother, she said wryly, is 'cellphone challenged', hasn't a clue how to go about getting her telephone programmed to her advantage. The new cellphone with newer features so her mother can use it while driving, obeying the new provincial highway traffic law outlawing the use of hand-held devices while driving. Thank heavens.

As for us, it was an interesting day in other ways. We were delighted, at breakfast time, to welcome back our little chipmunk, whose absence these past several months we had attributed to stealth and determination of the cat next door. That cat is an inveterate and highly successful hunter, despite the pathetic little bell hung about its neck. When, a little while back, we found the limp body of a mangled songbird, we were convinced that had been the fate of our absent little chipmunk, too.

The cat has long considered our property to be an extension of its own, despite the presence of our two little dogs who, when they see the black cat, take a run for him. But they would never really do anything; the animals are more than accustomed to one another's presence, and obviously the cat is aware of that; they've been physically close to one another, and just sniffed mutually, in the past. We had previously been leaving peanuts out for the chipmunk and the squirrels that would come along to be treated.

And then gave up doing that, since we were so upset about the predations of the cat. It's natural, we know, but upsetting, too. We've seen the results of its feline destructiveness; the torn bodies of tiny rabbits and birds. But we continue to treat the hordes of squirrels in the ravine during our daily walks there. And there is one little squirrel in particular that we keep a keen eye out for, hoping to encounter him, and to treat him, especially. It's a little black squirrel with but a stump for a tail.

His balance has obviously been affected, and his movements, though graceful are not quite as fluid as that of the other squirrels with their long, flowing tails. Unlike the others who wait upon tree stumps or close by tree crotches where we always leave peanuts, this little fellow appears to follow us, and will appear at some noted places on the trail. And as soon as we see him, we stop and he stops. And waits. And we toss unshelled peanuts for him. And he swiftly takes possession and quickly leaves to evade the attention of other squirrels.

We're inordinately fond of that brave little fellow. We adore our resolute grandchild.