Lois — a short story about a special squirrel
- Anne Mitchell
- May 24
- 6 min read
Updated: 2 days ago
During the spring of 2022, an adolescent squirrel lost his life when his home was damaged overnight by a strong thunderstorm. My husband’s office chair faces the sugar maple tree in our front yard and when he opened the blind he saw a small squirrel laying on the ground at the base of the tree, apparently lifeless. The squirrel
house in the crook of the tree, just about 10 feet off the ground, had sustained a great deal of damage in the storm. He called me to come look and I immediately went outside to see if the squirrel might still be alive. I knew the wildlife veterinarian clinic would be able to help him if he could be helped.
As I walked toward him, I saw a larger fox squirrel on a branch just above my head. She was leaning over the edge of the branch, staring at him and then looking toward me and as I got closer, she wailed in anguish that stopped me in my tracks. My heart ached for her as I recognized the sound as deep sorrow from a mother for her dead child — the mother squirrel sounded exactly as I remembered the way my own mother sounded when my older brother died, much too young and before either of his parents. I will never forget the sound of my mothers sorrow or the same sound from this mother squirrel.
I asked the squirrel for permission to check her child to see if I might possibly help but it was clear that he was already dead. I told her how sorry I was, and left him so that she could mourn him in whichever way she would. I went back inside and watched and several times over the next couple of hours she approached him on
the ground, sniffed him, and pushed him as though trying to make him get up. Eventually she left the area. Late in the afternoon, when she had not been back in several hours, I went out and told her I was going to bury him. She was nowhere to be seen. I buried him under an evergreen bush near the front of our house, not far from the tree he had been born in. To my knowledge, she never returned to the house that was damaged.
Over the next few weeks, the mother squirrel appeared on our front porch several times. I was certain that the squirrel on the porch was the mother squirrel. She is quite large compared to other squirrels and she has a distinctive orange/rust colored belly and looks like a miniature bear to me. She is quite cute.
For some reason I began calling her Lois. I know that is not her name but I don’t speak squirrel and she doesn’t speak English so somehow Lois became her name. I started giving her peanuts in the shell or an apple core or strawberry hull every once in a while. I would leave them in a planter box on the porch and she would find them. Eventually I began handing them to her and she would take them from my hand. Over time I researched and after a lot of false starts, found that squirrels eat primarily nuts in the shell, berries and other fruits and winter squashes. Many also like seeds — maple seeds, sunflower seeds, pumpkin seeds. I found a source for raw nuts in the shell including walnuts, pecans, almonds, and hazelnuts and began buying them in 20 pound bags. I also learned that it is best to scatter the nuts so the squirrels can forage for them, rather than leaving them in a pile somewhere.
Other squirrels began coming to the yard in search of the nuts and we began leaving out most of our fruit trimmings as they all seemed to enjoy apple and pear cores, strawberry hulls, the occasional cherry or blueberry. It is a lot of fun to watch them choose their favorite food and eat it or tuck a nut into their mouth to go bury somewhere for later. A neighbor told me he found a whole cache of nuts under a fireplace ring in his backyard a few weeks ago! Apparently, a squirrel has been saving nuts there since it is not used over the winter. My human neighbor did move the nuts under a tree hoping the squirrel neighbor will find them.
Lois continued coming onto the porch and eventually began to sit on the living room windowsill looking in to see if I was around. Sometimes I would walk through the living room and see her standing on her back legs, with her front paws against the glass peering in to see if I was there. We settled in to a routine where I would see her, bring her a nut or two and then scatter a small bowl of nuts around the yard.
Almost two years into our relationship, in January of 2024, one of my dogs died. Vino was the dog of my life — the one I connected with more fully than all the other very special animals I have known throughout my life. He got me. I got him. He was fun and silly and a deep thinker and had more energy than anyone I knew. He kept me going when I wanted to stop. He was a great traveler and wanted to be friends with every human and dog he met. He loved adventure and new places and seriously thought about the route he wanted to walk each day. I have always learned from the animals I have known, but he was someone special. A year and a half after his death, I still mourn him deeply.
He was the dog who was with me when I became vegan. He too became vegan at the age of 6 and lived to almost 14. He loved veggies and beans! He listened to me when I discovered the term speciesism and began to confront our relationship — was I preventing him from living his best life? What would that be for a non-human who has evolved alongside humans for thousands of years? I believe he loved me. I know I love him. What does it mean to live without being speciesist? Is it possible?
He was patient and forgiving and had all the wonderful characteristics I only dream of possessing. His death was devastating. I was not ready. I may never be ready to live without him.
He died in our living room. The day after his death, Lois came to the window, asking for nuts. She was sitting on the couch on our front porch when I went out and as I handed her a nut, she patted the back of my hand with hers before taking the nut from me. I was stunned. Somehow she knew I was in mourning. We shared the grief of losing someone we loved. And she knew. And I knew she knew.
I can’t explain what happened. I don’t pretend to understand. But I know we connected. And I know that she taught me a lesson I am still learning. Emotions are not human. They are animal. Humans are animals and all animals (at the very least) share the full range of emotions. This knowing changes many things and I am just beginning to comprehend what that actually means.
In the spring of 2025, 3 years into our relationship, Lois still comes to the windowsill and asks — sometimes demands — nuts. I know her favorite is pecan with almonds and hazelnuts tied for second choice. I know that when she has her babies, she will not visit for two or three weeks as motherhood is quite demanding. She will then return and demand extra nuts. I know that she has an uncanny way of meeting my needs. Friends visited from Portland, and I had told them about Lois but she did not come to visit the first two days they were here. While they packed their car on the third day to prepare to leave, Lois showed up in the driveway to say hello. When The Kerulos Center for Nonviolence asked me to offer a video endorsement of a class I took, I told my husband I wanted to take the video with Lois at the window behind me and not 20 minutes later she showed up and stayed on the windowsill while he made the video.
I still can’t explain our relationship. I just know we have one. I still can’t recognize most of the squirrels who live in or visit our yard. Lois has not lived here since her son died. She lives a few houses away and on the other side of the street now — I worry about her crossing that street though we are lucky to have very little traffic here.
I am grateful to know Lois. I am in awe of her ability to build her own house, find her own food and water, avoid traffic and predators, raise her babies and still find time to teach me lessons of connection, community and sentience. I hope I can someday live up to her teachings.