Enid Petherick
Artist and Observer of the Wilds

Ever watch a squirrel lure a cat up a tree to crawl along a branch, ever closer to the enticing critter, then see the squirrel leap agiley to a neighbouring tree and taunt raucously?  Or sit head cocked quizzically as it watches you do some mundane task?   Curious?  Amused?  Or chase round and round the house with dizzying speed ?  One marvels at the energy.  Suddenly running along outside my kitchen window it squats in a sheltered corner.  It's body goes limp and the head drops in a 'cat' nap so spontaneously I think it is ill or injured.  Piqued,  I watch till seconds later up pops the head and the little demon takes off again like the proverbial shot.

Or watch the hilarious and ridiculous antics of the young as they educate themselves in the school of experience.   Miscalculating distance, then having to cling and dangle desperately from a branch too delicate to hold the weight.  Missing altogether and landing heavily with an inelegant plop. ...Quietly scuttling into the nearest  dark corner to nurse bruises and chagrined feelings.  Beguiling, intriguing, maddening, loveable.

This winter we house-sat for a friend in a city that got a surprising amount of snow.  From a back room which I usurped as my studio, I studied the layers of snow covering porches, garages, backyards and alleys.  Caps on fence posts and white ribbons covering trees and overhead wires often turned to a glaze of ice.   This area had a population of beautiful fat sleek squirrels.  Mostly grey or black, occasionally one with a mutation of red.  Twice as big as our wilderness squirrels.  They did not like, nor attempt to flounder, through the mushy landscape.  Puzzled and challenged perhaps by this uncommon phenomenon, but not for long.  The overhead wire network became their transportation grid.   The squirrels became my constant source of study--inspiring and entertaining models.

They tested the icy wires tentatively, step by step.  Sometimes one foot slipped but the other three tenaciously grasped and clung.  The elegant tail dipped and arched and counter balanced.  By the end of a long run they had gained the aplomb of a tight rope acrobat.

One day Ralph asked: "What happens if two meet?"   "I don't know.  I've never seen it.  Maybe they watch and avoid?"  One hopes!

A couple hours later I looked up from my painting to see a squirrel setting out from the right side of an aerial span.  Carefully.  A learner. 

Two houses to the left another squirrel charges expertly and confidently onto the opposite end of the same wire --toward squirrel number one...?#&?

#One:  Stops.  It has seen what is happening but does not back up.

#Two:  Does not slacken.

#One:  Sits motionless. Is it scared?  Can it turn around?  Is it too far for it to jump? 

#Two:  Never hesitating, is now opposite #One. 

#One: So quickly I could not follow the motions, flipped upside down clinging to the wire with all fours from below...  and without breaking time  the second squirrel charged on, along the wire and over #One!

#One:  Righted itself and continued.  No sweat!!

A BIG sigh of relief from me.  These squirrels could pirouette as adeptly as Pierre Elliott Trudeau--and are just as outrageous.  (As a fan of P.E.T., I'm sure he would have admired their grace, skill and audacity!)

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"Studio Model Verna"