Back in the 80s, I enjoyed feeding squirrels by hand. Once, a squirrel mistook my finger for a peanut and put my entire digit up to the first knuckle into its mouth. I decided not to panic and did not flinch thinking that would be a sure way of getting bit. Within seconds the squirrel realized my finger wasn’t a peanut and backed off my finger, then took a peanut out of my lap and ran. I’ve had two squirrels fighting over me, some climbing on my shoulder and then chasing away others trying to crawl up my leg – once two ran around my thigh like it was a tree trunk. This little bugger had its hand on my face while it gingerly took a peanut out of my mouth. So sweet. I should have had my head examined.
In August 2001, Enzo and I went to Italy to be Best Men at his niece Maria Grazia’s wedding. At the end of our vacation together, Vincenzo left early for the US with his mom, sister and niece Concetta (just prior to 9/11) and I took a roadtrip from Torino to Budapest. In Ljubljana, Slovenia – I met a lovely Swiss man who was also in a relationship and we went out for a night on the town. We chose this nice restaurant off the Ljubljanica River to take in the sights and smells of the town. After scanning the menu, I asked the waiter about the paté. He said it was homemade and delicious. I asked if it were pork or liver paté and he exclaimed, “No. Small furry animal.” I looked at my Swiss date for the evening and smiled and then asked the waiter if it was made from one particular furry animal or several kinds. He said, “One but I don’t remember name. I come back.” After a few moments he returned and said “Ssquirrial.” I asked which wine went well with squirrel and he pointed to a local red which was outstanding. The paté was exquisite or should I say “Exsquirrial!”
Now that I grow bulbs and tomatoes, I hate the little buggers. Even throw rocks at them on my terrace. Yet I still have a hankering to feed the cute black ones.