I love squirrels.

This may come as news to some who have known me for many years. I hereby renounce my former hatred of squirrels. True, they are pesky animals who will steal your Christmas bulbs right off the string, rip through your plastic garbage bags at night, eat full muffins in front of you while you scrounge for spare change in your pockets listening to your stomach growl. But, I no longer see this as evidence of evil, merely mischief. I misread the squirrel.

And, this is no spur of the moment decision. For over a week now I have been a squirrel fan . . . ever since I realized that a certain squirrel living in or around my yard has my back.

Greta had a few "bad days" at school a few weeks ago. On one particular day, i recieved news that she had behaved, "wild." Wild? My child? With gentle questioning at night I uncovered the truth of some of her behaviors. I told her a story about a little bear who went to school and got so excited to see some friends that she decided to do some funny stuff that made the teachers frustrated, but made her friends laugh. Then I stopped, and asked, "Hmmm. i just can't think of what Little Bear might have done, Greta. What kind of crazy thing could she have done?" As long as she was pegging it on Little Bear, Greta had no problem being forthcoming about goofball behavior. She replied,"She used the toothbrush to brush her teeth."

I saw where she was going and asked,"Do you mean the toothbrush that the children are supposed to use to wash dirty squirrels with?"

"Yes. And she sat on a puzzle."

"I see. So she did the wrong thing with all of the things in the classroom."

"Yes. And the children laughed."

So, my daughter ratted herself out as the true dirty squirrel of this classroom. I told her that I was sad and disappointed. And, Greta decided that she didn't like school anymore. She refused to go. Then, she had a day when I brought her and she refused to stop crying. She missed her mommy. She couldn't possibly go to school.

Day Three rolled around, and as we were walking out to the car, Greta beckoned me over to see a plump squirrel at the base of a tree in our yard. I got an idea -- no, it was more like the squirrel itself telepathically sent me an idea. "Hi, Sneaky," I said. (Thus far, both of my children and a few confused adults believe that I believe that we are always talking to the SAME squirrel when see a squirrel. I refer to him as Sneaky. When "Sneaky" is with other squirrels, he is with his mother, father, brother Nutty, or friend Shady. Shady is a black squirrel.)

Sneaky played right along and nodded his little squirrel head as he MADE EYE CONTACT with me.

"Sneaky, what's going on?"

Nod nod, click click.

"You're on your way to school? Oh really? You go to the squirrel Montessori right by Greta's? Wow. Do you like it?"

Nod nod.

"You do? That's great. Yeah. Greta loves it too. Sure she can look for you there when she's on the playground."

Stare.

Greta, in a tine voice, joined in," Yes, we go outside."

Nod.

"OK. So you're waiting for your mom to bring you? Well, I'm going to bring Greta there right now. Go ahead and get your mom."

And Sneaky ran half way up the tree, paused, and nodded a goodbye.

"Bye Sneaks. See you at school."

This remarkable swuirrel left no small impression on Greta, who then pegged me with questions concerning squirrel school logistics on the ride there. And, Greta did not cry at school that day and was not a "squirrel" either. There is already a squirrel at Montessori, the brilliant Sneaky. I think that his last name might be Doolittle.