Return To The Forest

The tapping of rain and dark skies overhead next morning meant there would be no Ecksbi Dishn to the neighbor’s house. Today was an occasion for staying indoors, which suited Riffraff, Rizzo and Aubry just fine. Being left behind while the others visited the garden wasn’t any fun, and they were glad for the company of the others. The squirrels weren’t so concerned about getting wet that they wouldn’t go outdoors, particularly after running through the jet of water from the hose the last few afternoons. It was simply a matter of choice that anyone might make, and moping about in the rain and mist wasn’t nearly as pleasant as playing inside a warm, dry house.

Riffraff scampered after Blackburn and Quicksilver as they raced through the house. He was too sore to run like they did, however when he caught up, plenty of leaping, rolling and cuffing followed, and today Rizzo let him be. Aubry happily forgot about her hind paw as she practiced reading and writing with Paddington. The sparglies were brought out, and Rizzo convinced Fettler to come and build patterns with her. Bravo and Ruth scampered all over the house, a chase that became a game of Hyhdn Sneehg, which was plenty exciting when venturing downstairs into an unfamiliar darkness full of boxes piled high. Eventually Ruth caught sight of the sparglies, and crept mischievously closer, behind Rizzo and Fettler. She paused, tail twitching greedily, and leapt between them, snatching up an immense green emerald in her teeth and bolting upstairs as fast as her little paws could take her.

Rizzo and Fettler glanced up in bewilderment.

“Hey… wahdoon?”

“Brvoh, brihn behg th’ spargly,” Rizzo told her little one, who was only a leap or two behind the little orphan.

And so the game changed once again. Bravo had to make sure the spargly was returned, and that was the only rule required for the game to continue. Bravo chased her upstairs to the squirrel’s room. After a morning of running about, she was beginning to tire, and he had no trouble keeping up with her. She hopped to the lowest ledge of the shelf by the door, and sat up to gloat over her prize, turning it over and over in her paws. She glanced up at Bravo and chittered proudly as he scampered closer, but when he reached out to take the jewel, the chitter became a possessive growl.

“Yoo hehv to gihv ihd behg,” he responded plaintively, head tilting to one side. Would she bite him if he took it from her?

Ruth put the jewel in her mouth, glancing in both directions. No point hiding it with her playmate here, and she knew that no matter where she went, he would follow. Fuzzy ears playfully perked up, she scampered sideways, and Bravo moved to intercept. She dodged the other way, and when he responded, she leapt sideways past him- and chirked as Bravo pounced. The emerald tumbled off to one side as they cuffed each other, rolling furiously round and round. Bravo wound up on top, leapt free, and scooped up the jewel. She was no match for him.

He looked condescendingly over his shoulder at her, and just as he realized no one was there, she head-butted him from the other side. He squeaked and rolled over, releasing the spargly into the air. Ruth caught it, chittering as loud as she could with her mouth full, and hurtled recklessly towards the stairs with Bravo snapping at her tail. She loved being chased, and skittered down the stairs into the main room, under and over the couch, into the corner under the computer desk. She abruptly realized there was nowhere to go… except up, to the large animal’s knee. From the knee of the friendly giant Ruth jumped up to the desk, and scrambled up Paul’s arm. He watched in astonishment as she sat up on his shoulder, pausing to assess the situation. She leaned forward to sniff his face, then crawled carefully down to his shirt pocket, let go of the emerald, backed away, and with one front paw, patted the pocket closed.

She hopped triumphantly up to his shoulder, and found Bravo waiting there, hiding behind the huge neck of the bihgwun. Chirping with delight, the red squirrel bounced down to the table, knee and floor.

Bravo sat up on Paul’s shoulder, folded up his front paws and peered at the bihgwun.

“Ar yoo hyhdn th’ spargly?”

“Maybe,” Paul answered seriously. One eye winked.

The little fuzzy’s mouth opened, and he tried to imitate the bihgwun. He was concentrating so much that his head tilted sideways as one eye completely closed and opened. At exactly the same time Ruth leapt up from the back of the chair, and cuffed him. Bravo chirked, both eyes flew open, and the chase was on.

Paul watched as the two flew across the room and into the hall, reached into his pocket and took out Ruth’s loot. The green emerald caught the light and flashed as he rotated the flat stone between thumb and forefinger. It was beautiful, rich and clear, a tiny green world of crystalline facets and myriad reflections. He looked down as a little voice spoke.

“Pawl? Did Roohv gihv yoo th’ spargly?”

“I think so. It’s hard to say for sure,” the bihgwun answered Rizzo with a grin.

Paul bent down as the eager squirrel reached up to take the jewel, straightening as the emerald was placed in the corner of the latest design the two had made. Again he noticed the shape of the stone, the flat face and sides, a perfect hexagon. Six sides. His thoughts wandered as the squirrels played with the stones, and he recalled Josef’s proverb, created in the journal. At first glance nothing more than a fanciful exercise, a simple poem that slowly unfolded to reveal a cipher and pattern of sixes. Where did the jewels come from? What was their connection to the journal and Josef, the scientist who fled Russia over fifty years ago for a hiding place in Canada? Might the journal contain further secrets to explain their presence?

He lifted the journal out of the strongbox and flipped through it. He was familiar with certain pages, where the cipher was written, the pages where the various parts of the cipher were located, and a few other paragraphs spread throughout the scientist’s writings. The recipe for Root Beer, for instance. Yet another instance of Josef’s continual reference to the number six, a recipe whose measurements all included that same number. Was Josef recording hidden information for himself, or communicating to someone else like Paul, a stranger reading the journal in his absence? Paul knew so little about both Josef and Piotr, the other fugitive who stayed in Germany. Old men who were now gone and replaced by a grouchy, gun-toting neighbor.

Even the squirrels were older than him. It was unsettling to realize that little Bravo, the youngest of the family, was at least thirty years of age in human years, and he would never know exactly how old Falstaff had been when he closed his eyes for the last time. His friend Fettler was younger. These were the two original squirrels he knew of, two of the four that Josef and Piotr had smuggled into Europe. Falstaff, Francesca, Fettler and Fertig. He would never know Francesca, who died giving birth to the little family before him, and both Falstaff and Fettler seemed to believe that Fertig was alive, though they had no idea where.

He watched as Fettler and Rizzo placed one of the larger gemstones in the pattern and chittered in their small, growly voices. The squirrels were endlessly fascinated with the bright jewels. Fettler was certainly older than the rest, yet like Falstaff, the signs of age weren’t immediately obvious. His fur was thick, his movements only a shade less swift than those of the family that Falstaff had entrusted to his care. And what about Fertig, the last of the four? If he was still alive, where would one begin looking for him? Was it at all possible that he could also be reunited with these relatives? Four friends, kidnapped so long ago… it would be so right if somehow that last little one could be found. Falstaff, Francesca, Fettler and Fertig.

He absently whispered the names to himself, and for the first time since hearing the story of the four kidnapped squirrels, realized that each name began with the letter ‘F’. He knew, and had until now missed the significance of it.

The names began with the sixth letter of the alphabet.

“Yohr nahd rehdy to go.”

Rizzo and her maternal instinct stood firmly in front of the larger squirrel.

“Yehs I am,” growled Riffraff, “I nahd stehn insyhd.”

Morning on the mountain ridge called to the little ones. The day outside was spectacular, and almost all of the family was anxiously waiting for Paul to take them to the garden. Riffraff was fed up with resting and sleeping, and after consenting to stay inside yesterday while the sun shone and the others went to see the garden, Riffraff was determined to go too. Rizzo knew he wasn’t anywhere close to being healed up and wasn’t about to let him go out yet. Besides, Aubry and Ruth wouldn’t be going anywhere for another day, and she felt he should stay and recuperate with them. Nurse and patients were grumpy and irritable.

“Yohr stihl hurd,” she insisted.

“No I nahd!”

Rizzo took a step closer, lifting a paw.

“Wahn me shoh yoo?”

“Shoh me? Yeh. Yoo shoh me,” Riffraff growled, drawing himself up in front of her. His little sister couldn’t hurt him.

Rizzo huffed angrily and hopped to one side. Faster than the eye could see, she smacked him with the back of her paw, hard on the sore, tender side of his ribs where the cougar had dragged him along the ground. His eyes bulged.

“See? I f-fyhn,” said Riffraff, in a wheezing voice barely louder than a whisper.

His sister looked at him and shook her head in wry disbelief.

“Ihv I puhsh yoo, yoo fahl dowhn.”

“Yoo kehn try.”

Rizzo angrily thumped her front paws on the ground, and they glared at each other. Blackburn interrupted the confrontation by jumping in between his brother and sister.

“Sehgs,” he chuckled, looking at Rizzo, “yohr sbohs mehg hihm behdr, nah wurhs.”

She looked down, embarrassed.

“He’s been stuhbrn.”

Riffraff’s brother turned to him. Blackburn didn’t have much to say, but when the eldest- next to Fettler- squirrel spoke, even Riffraff listened.

“Dohn goh to th’ gardn,” he quietly asked the other, so low that Rizzo couldn’t hear.

“Ihs nahda goohd plehs f’yoo. Plis.”

Riffraff glared at his brother, tail twitching angrily, ears flat. Blackburn quietly returned his gaze, and after a tense silence, the other sniffed and looked away. Bristling fur sank back into place, and the long, thick tail sank down to the floor.

“I dohn wahn steh insyhd,” Riffraff mumbled petulantly.

Blackburn folded his paws in thought. He briefly pondered the situation, glanced back and forth at the two siblings, and spoke to Rizzo.

“Rfraf wahns to goh owsyhd. So goh owsyhd! Rehsd an sleehb besyhd th’ hows. Hokay?”

Rizzo considered that. She looked grudgingly up at Riffraff.

“Yoo wohn ruhn weh?”

Riffraff’s whiskers twitched.

“An wahd ihv I do? Wahd yoo gohn-”

Blackburn growled softly, and Riffraff sullenly backed down.

“Hokay, hokay! I steh besyhda hows.”

The solution was reluctantly accepted, and when Paul wandered into the room after finishing on the pc, all was calm.

The garden behind Bruce’s house looked much the same to Paul, neither better nor worse. Was he helping his neighbor at all? The plants, shrubs and bushes seemed to be the right colors. The leaves weren’t wilting. The garden wasn’t dying, and surely that was good. He looked down at the squirrels, jubilantly leaping and scampering through the thick foliage as if they were discovering it for the first time. Worrying about it was almost impossible with these little ones nearby, and they were certainly happy about the garden. He knelt down as Fettler skittered nearer.

“Fettler?”

The eldest squirrel paused, sitting up.

“The garden’s doing okay?”

The little one looked curiously up at him, his head tilting to one side.

“Yeh. Loohg ad ihd.”

Paul glanced up, briefly scanning the area before speaking again.

“Yes… I see it. It looks okay,” he answered.

“But how… how do you know it’s growing the way it should?”

Fettler saw the look on the bihgwun’s face, the furrowed brow and the thin line where his mouth was. He patiently bent down, and lifted up a pawful of the damp, crumbly soil, instantly aware of the life within the dark material. The passing of seasons, leaves, trees and other plants lay in his paws. Other animals had fallen here and returned to the ground. The warmth of sun and tiniest parts of water were mixed together, inviting growth, waiting to produce something new from what was past. All of it was there in the tiny lump of soil that he held up to the bihgwun. And as if that wasn’t enough, he took the bihgwun’s hand to the closest plant, guided the fingers across the vibrant, thirsty surface of the leaf, searching Paul’s face for any signs that meant he understood.

“See? Now yoo knoh, too.”

Paul squeezed the tiny clod of earth in his hand, brushed the leaf with the tips of his fingers and felt nothing. Was this something that Bruce knew? Or was it the focused senses of animal instinct that were beyond human understanding? It was like being blind and asking the little one to explain the blue of the sky. Something he couldn’t know, and something that the little squirrel couldn’t possibly describe to him.

Fortunately, Bravo hurtled closer, leapt up to his knee, and the confusing thoughts left his mind.

“Wehr’s th’ wahdr? Ar yoo gohn gehd th’ wahdr, soohn?”

The voice of the littlest squirrel brought a smile to Paul’s face. Maybe understanding the garden wasn’t as important as simply allowing the small ones to lead the way through it.

The family was familiar with the game. They examined the ground, munched on the green shoots that weren’t supposed to grow in the garden, and carefully tested the leaves and plant stalks. They hopped and whirled around, calling the bihgwun and pointing at the plants that needed watering, then frantically leapt into the air, waving their paws when the moisture was sufficient. Paul had an idea.

“Point where you want water,” he suggested, gesturing with his index finger. He then held his hand up, palm facing outwards.

“And try doing this when you don’t want any, or when the plant has enough. This means ‘Stop’. That way you don’t have to keep saying the same thing.”

The squirrels could point easily enough, but holding fuzzy paws up was a challenging task. Some concentration was required, and in the confusion more than one squirrel was accidentally watered, which became half the fun under the warm sunshine, a new part of the game. At the end of the last row of radishes everyone realized that pointing and raised paws were being used as often as little mouths, and the bihgwun’s idea began to work. A little one could point to a plant, and see it suddenly glistening in a sparkling mist, or point down at the ground for a stream of water, and with the simple motion of raising an upturned paw, the water stopped.

And so it went for two more days of sun and blue sky. Paul and the fuzzy family spent much of the mornings and early afternoons at the neighbor’s garden, going from one end to the other. Paul imagined a systematic approach where each squirrel would manage a row of vegetables or fruit, weeding and directing him to water where it was needed, thereby maximizing operational time spent and increasing efficiency. In less than half the time they could be finished, in and out. He soon discovered that the squirrels had no intention of maximizing anything, zero interest in operations, and couldn’t be bothered with efficiency. This was a game that was to be played until they were tired of it. Eating bugs, playing hide and seek, telling the bihgwun which plants needed water, and then cooling off under the hose after the garden was tended. If that kept them busy most of the day, then it was a day well spent.

Riffraff, Aubry and Ruth continued to recuperate at the house. Resting and relaxing outside was a suitable compromise between Rizzo and Riffraff, although it was quite obvious to everyone that their hero and the strongest squirrel of the family was no longer content to live at the house. He watched Ruth enviously as she seemed to ignore whatever injuries she had suffered during the cougar’s attack. He’d seen the cougar slam the little red squirrel into a tree under it’s paw, and now only a couple of days later, whether healed or not, she was back on her feet. Perhaps not quite running at full speed, yet enough that Rizzo gave up trying to watch over her; there was no longer any need. Which meant Rizzo could devote her full attention to Aubry and Riffraff, and there was no escape. She fussed over his torn ear, the long bruises on his side, wouldn’t let him get up, and continuously brought him food, until he miserably growled and snapped at her to leave him be.

Aubry’s hind leg was the longest to heal. It didn’t seem fair that the others were over their injuries so soon, while she had no choice but to clumsily limp about. Rizzo was especially watchful that her sister kept her weight off the leg. She tirelessly brought food to Aubry and groomed her. She helped the other climb if it was necessary. The attention was much appreciated, and unfortunately was also a test of patience that pushed the little one to the limits of her quiet nature. Even gentle Aubry could growl, and Rizzo gave her sibling more space when such ‘requests’ were made, before the growls escalated into something worse. Like any other squirrel, Aubry valued her independence highly, almost as much as having four healthy feet.

The glow of the sun shifted and afternoon shadows swung slowly around as the bihgwun and squirrels returned home. The fuzzy bunch was worn out after hours of gardening and running about, and as soon as they shuffled indoors, joined Riffraff, Aubry and little Ruth for a late nap. Paul drove into town for some food and groceries, and saw Angie at Sorensen’s Food Market. The friendly cashier rang up the bill, and he told her the news about his neighbor, leaving out the details from Riffraff. She was concerned, but not surprised.

“It’s a fact of life up here. Every few months something big rolls in… bears, cougars, wolves. Sometimes they move on, sometimes they don’t,” she commented, collecting the items together into bags.

“Bruce is tougher than the mountain, he’ll be fine. He went to Harwood?”

Paul nodded. Harwood Memorial General Hospital served the entire district, in the next town several miles down the highway.

“I should send some flowers. Did they say how long he’d be there?”

“Didn’t say. I’d guess a week, at least,” Paul answered, and grinned.

“Flowers… for Bruce?”

“Sure,” Angie said, her eyes twinkling.

“He’ll be up and out just to give me a hard time about them.”

The drive up the mountain road in the warm evening sun was pleasant, more than usual, and the sense of contentment remained into the night. Riffraff, Aubry and Rizzo were entertained with stories of the garden, drinking from the water hose, and being soaked by the bihgwun. Paul shuffled off to bed later, and slept solidly through the night for the second time in a row since moving into their new home. Moonlight crept across the room where the little family slumbered in a pile of tails and paws, over the garden, and down into the distant valley upon a pack of wolves, howling up at the brilliant sphere in the indigo sky.

Another cloudless summer day meant another Ecksbi Dishn to the garden. When Bravo nudged Ruth, she stirred and looked around, yet refused to move. No one knew exactly how badly she was hurt. Certainly not so much as Aubry and her fractured paw, yet enough that she wanted only to sleep, and that was serious in any squirrel’s eyes.

“Stihl hurdn,” Rizzo said, tail twitching sympathetically, and the little red squirrel’s eyes closed as she smoothed the fur between Ruth’s ears.

Riffraff wanted to go with them, and Rizzo would have none of it. He grumbled and rose unsteadily to his feet, giving in only when they made a big fuss over him. Aubry wouldn’t be taking any long runs through the forest with her leg on the mend, and that was that. She muttered briefly, sighed and curled up next to Ruth. Rizzo’s motherly instinct wouldn’t let her leave either, though she very much wanted to see the garden, like Fettler did, and gazed wistfully after the others as they made their way to the far side of the clearing, into the woods.

The day passed in much the same way as the one before, as bright and golden as any summer day could be. The little ones scampered about, sampling and testing the soil and leaves, followed by the bihgwun and the long water hose. They tried again to explain to him what they felt when they touched the leaves and stems, patiently describing the differences between a thirsty leaf and a growing plant. It was easier to feel the leaves in the paws than to explain with bihgwun words, and at every opportunity they guided his huge paws to the leaves of various garden shrubs. Paul took each one carefully between finger and thumb, closed his eyes, concentrating on the thin leaf for any hint of what the little ones seemed to know instinctively. What was it the squirrels could feel?

He wondered if it was something Bruce might understand, and shrugged.

“Nothing,” he told them.

Paddington picked up a small pebble.

“Myhdas wehl be rahgs?”

Paul chuckled.

“I wonder if I can tell how thirsty you are,” he grinned, and took one of the squirrel’s fuzzy ears lightly between thumb and forefinger.

“H’m. Hard to tell…”

The little one chittered, dropped the pebble, and with some help from Bravo, wrestled the large paw to the ground, tails twitching. The others laughed merrily and continued on, meandering up one row and down the next, until the soil was dark with moisture and the plants glistened with sparkling droplets of water. Paul followed them with the hose, dutifully spraying and watering wherever little paws pointed. Pawfuls of the deeper soil were satisfactorily damp, and leaves felt… better.

The tomatoes seemed to need the most attention. Tiny weeds nearby were pulled up and nibbled, and much water was given to each plant. When he got closer, Paul noticed a few of the green fruit showing under the leaves beginning to turn red, and knew that must be good. The thought occurred to him that he should take a couple to Bruce for his opinion. No matter what his neighbor thought of squirrels, they owed him a debt of gratitude for facing the cougar, and it might make the old man feel better to know that his garden was being tended.

He knelt down, took two of the brightest green-red tomatoes and showed them to the fuzzy family. Little faces gathered round, sniffed deeply, and they shook their heads, pushing the fruit away.

“Nah rehdy,” Fettler said, nose and whiskers scrunching up in distaste, “Noh goohd, nah yehd.”

Paul nodded. That much he could see. He rose to his feet, surveying the work done today, and decided that the garden looked at least as good as yesterday. It certainly didn’t look worse than the previous afternoon, and that was good. The soil was dark with moisture, the plants seemed full and rich in color, and any other indications were secrets that only the squirrels seemed to know. Paul was aware that not one of the squirrels took even a bite from the vegetables and fruit that surrounded them for the entire time they were there. Grubs and weeds were chewed and nibbled, and Bravo pursued the big crunchy beetles with great enthusiasm. Yet as far as Paul could see, no matter how delicious all the scents and aromas were, the squirrels left the growing plants untouched. He made sure to have fresh fruit and vegetables available from the grocery store waiting at home for them as a reward, and it seemed to be a fair trade. He was tempted to take a pea pod or two for their efforts, yet after telling them that the garden belonged to Bruce, he thought it would confuse the squirrels to see him taking what he had told them not to.

He looked down at them, and upturned faces expectantly returned his gaze, gathered beside him at the corner of the dark soil. A momentary squirt of water misted over them, and Paul laughed as they burst into motion, running and leaping through the grass beside the garden, chittering and eagerly daring him to try catching them with the jet of water. The early afternoon was spent in the summer sun, cool water and warm grass, running and playing with the others.

Later, Paul took the highway to the next town where the hospital was located, asked which room Bruce was in, found his way up two floors and down a long hall that smelled sterile and disinfected. When he peered cautiously into the right room, his neighbor was propped up and watching tv. More of his head was bandaged than not, the right side hidden from the nose upwards, and one arm was in a sling.

“Hey, Bruce. Thought I’d check in.”

Bruce turned, and his one visible eye widened in surprise.

“Come on in,” he answered, turning down the volume on the remote and quickly gesturing at the empty bed next to him.

“Please, sit down.”

Paul thanked him, looking dubiously around the room.

“Haven’t been to a hospital for a long time. They haven’t changed much,” he observed.

Bruce nodded.

“Yep. Smells.”

Both smiled in mutual dislike of the surroundings.

“So,” Paul began, “how’s things?”

Bruce scowled.

“Boring. According to them, I’m great. But not great enough to go home.”

He lifted the arm in the sling.

“This side’s where I fell. The cat jumped me on the same side, cracked a couple of ribs. The arm’s bitten, tore it up a bit. “

He paused and continued reluctantly.

“Doctor says the majority of work was up top. Bites, damage, possibly permanent, and so on.”

Paul nodded soberly.

“I’m sorry to hear-”

Bruce waved it off.

“Could’ve been worse. I’ll walk away. More than I can say for the cougar.”

Paul agreed. The man had been immensely fortunate.

“We- I- appreciate what you did. You didn’t have to.”

The other shrugged, wincing.

“The cat could have come for me when I was gardening. Had to be done.”

He scowled.

“Not that it matters now. Everything’s probably drying up.”

“Actually, that’s one reason I came.”

He passed Bruce a plastic bag with the two tomatoes.

“I went over to your place, locked the doors, watered the plants. How do these look?”

The old man’s face brightened as he carefully rolled them over in his hands.

“Not bad… another week or two. How did you know?”

“You were talking about them when the paramedics came.”

Bruce silently appraised the tomatoes, and Paul continued.

“I can water the garden, if you like. Do you know when you’ll be out of here?”

The other nodded.

“I’d appreciate it,” he said, and abruptly looked up.

“Watch the weeds. You’ll see that the var- um, animals, don’t-”

“-they won’t.”

A wry grin lifted one side of Paul’s face. He was sure that Bruce would be less than happy to know that the family was visiting the garden with him, and he was also sure that now was not a good time to talk about it. The other relaxed, nodding.

“Stuck here a few more days, apparently,” Bruce muttered.

“I’m about ready to let myself out.”

The visit ended shortly. Paul noticed the vase of flowers by the bed, and Bruce mentioned Angie’s card arriving with them. Paul confessed to telling her, and the senior grumbled about women and flowers, all the while looking away, or up at the tv. He gently put the tomatoes beside the flowers, and with his free hand took a moment to carefully arrange both. It was somehow reassuring to see the old man’s sour attitude still intact, and Paul was certain of a swift recovery. He left the hospital with a sense of relief, and the song of speed and wind flowed through the open window as the car gathered momentum on the highway, winding north towards home in the sunlight of early evening. Forests stood majestically at either side, the dark, rich greens mixed with black shadows, sweeping upwards at the far sides of the plateau into the dark blue-white heights of mountain peaks.

The bihgwun nodded and paced off towards the house, found the hose on a large spool and unwound several lengths as he returned to the garden. How many different kinds of plants were there? Did they all need water? The same amount? The tomatoes at the far side- those were the old man’s pride and joy, and should probably get the most attention. The squirrels gathered around, watching curiously as the hose made a fine mist over the leaves. When he stopped, they hopped delightedly into the moist dirt, sampling it in their paws and playing with it.

Bravo held up a squirming beetle.

“Kehn we eahd th’ buhgs?”

Paul nodded. Why not? It could only help the garden to get rid of the pests.

“Sure,” he answered, looking away as the littlest fuzzy eagerly gobbled up the insect.

He knelt down beside the tomato plants, inspecting the moist leaves, and checking to see that the ground was damp.

Fettler watched the bihgwun’s large paws touch the leaves and test the dirt. He explored the dirt with his own paws.

“Neehds mohr wahdr,” he said, looking up.

“Really? How do you know?”

The eldest squirrel held up a pawful of dirt to the bihgwun.

“Jehs feehl ihd,” he said as the bihgwun took the dirt in his fingers.

Paul squeezed the tiny clod of dark soil and couldn’t understand why the animal was so certain. It seemed properly moist. Fettler carefully scooped a tiny hole between two of the tomato plants, and pulled out another pawful of dirt, and held that up, too. The huge paws took the second sample as the little one carefully filled up the hole again.

“See?”

Paul didn’t see. The second sample felt just the same, damp and sticky, like dirt.

“So all the ground needs more water?”

“Yeh. Shoh yoo.”

The squirrel went from one plant to the next. If he could reach a leaf, he took it in his paws and gently rubbed it between, and if not, he took the stalk in his paws with the same smooth motion.

“Neehds mohr… lahd mohr… jehs a lihdl wahdr…”

Did Fettler really know how much water the plants needed? Paul would have questioned the little one’s ability if not for the other squirrels who joined him. From one plant to the next they took leaves and stalks carefully between their paws, and each of them agreed with Fettler, word for word. All seemed to know the same information, and they lead the bihgwun with the hose down each row, taking tiny pawfuls of dirt as he watered the ground. When the soil around each plant felt right to little paws, the group moved on, sometimes from one plant to the next, at others skipping several in a group. Wherever water was needed, the squirrels knew how much, and when to stop. Several bugs and insects were munched along the way, and plenty of tiny, barely visible leaves and shoots of other plants between the large ones were pulled up and nibbled.

“Th’ lihdl wuhns tehg alla wahdr weh from th’ bihg plans,” Fettler explained.

Paul nodded. Ridding the garden of weeds and grubs made perfect sense, and didn’t require any special touch. The mysterious talent of the little ones was another matter, and as often as each tried to explain how they knew, there was nothing he could see in the leaves, nothing he could sense by touching them. Tiny paws reached up to tug at his hands and guide his fingers to certain leaves, looking up at his face to confirm information that was apparently quite clear to them; more water here, not so much over there. The leaves might as well have been stones in his dull fingers, and he told them so. The little ones chittered and snorted with laughter, scampering and leaping as he poked and tussled them.

Tending the garden took longer than Paul had thought it would. The family of squirrels were delighted with the new game, found it immensely funny that the bihgwun thought the leaves were rocks, and Paul had to grin at sight of them chortling and snuffling. However, when he raised his eyes to take in the surrounding garden, he wondered if they were really helping their feisty neighbor or not. He imagined Bruce returning to a withered, ruined collection of plants and grimaced. There was no way of knowing until several days had passed, and Paul shrugged. If nothing else, his intentions were good, and left alone the plants would most probably dry up anyway. The old man would understand that.

“Kehn we hehv suhm wahdr?”

Startled, he discovered Paddington standing up on his hind feet beside him. The little one was looking thirstily at the hose gun in his hand.

“Sure. Okay if it’s straight from the hose?”

Paddington’s large tail twitched hesitantly. Paul was thirsty too, and demonstrated, leaning into the edge of the water-stream. Quicksilver chittered enthusiastically.

“Kehn I hehv suhm too?”

The bihgwun knelt down, and angled the hose at a comfortable height for squirrely mouths. One by one the curious squirrels tentatively came closer to the jet of water, snapping and darting at it to catch mouthfuls of water. Much chittering and laughing at each other followed as tiny thirsts were satisfied. Blackburn was the last to approach the stream, and was especially uncertain about this new way of drinking.

“Heehr, Blaberhn, I kehn hehlb yoo,” Paddington said kindly, and nudged the other directly into the oncoming water.

Blackburn was instantly drenched. Spluttering and chirking, he shook the water off, and sourly turned towards Paddington, who was laughing so hard that he didn’t bother dodging the paws that pushed him into the spray.

“Yohr ahl wehd!” Bravo shouted, clapping his paws, and promptly hopped through the water himself.

     He whirled round and leapt through again, and everyone followed in short order. Any hesitation soon evaporated as the gang ran around in circles, chasing each other through the jet of cool, refreshing water. Paul chuckled, alternating between a fine mist of water over the little ones, and the occasional stream at one or more of them. Quicksilver was especially clever at dodging the stream of water, and though Bravo tried to keep up with him, the littlest squirrel was soon soaked through.