Decisions, decisions

Watching backyard wildlife is time consuming and I don't have the opportunity to stay by my kitchen window very long but when I saw a scruffy tailed red squirrel galloping in a frantic pace along Lorraine's (my neighbor) eaves I was curious to know what the animal was trying to do. It would go to the corner and look down at the holly bush recently trimmed several feet below the eaves. It retraced its steps and looked across to my fir tree from which several days ago I had also cut a branch that hung above Lorraine's sidewalk. My Douglas fir is three feet from my line and the branches spread more than twenty feet in every direction. The lowest one is level with Lorraine's eaves but not anywhere near.
Our houses are about 40 feet apart according to city ordinance set over fifty years ago. A spacious distance to be sure but that squirrel has for months been making its way from a chestnut tree in Lorraine's backyard across her roof to my fir tree and then across my roof to chew on the developing nuts growing on black and English walnut trees near my front door (with branches overhanging my roof). The squirrel appeared to be puzzled about the change in distance and seemed unsure about making a drop into the holly bush. Holly leaves are prickly and I wouldn't want to grab one for my safety net. Well neither did the squirrel. After many pacings, the animal judged the distance to a higher limb of the fir tree to be its destination. And it jumped.
Red squirrels cannot fly. They cannot even glide like the so called flying squirrels that sail over distances many times their body length from a high perch to a lower one. This red sqirrel, with a scruffy tail, appeared to fly. It jumped across to the fir branch and scrambled to get to the more solid footing on the tree trunk. I left it there contemplating whether it was safe to go to the ground and cross the yard to its destination or go to a higher branch and leap to my roof.
Whatever its choice, I know it got there because scraps of nut casings were scattered on the ground.
Naomi Sherer