Slingshots and Squirrels

Yesterday afternoon I was at home packing when I heard the sound of boys outside my window. Boys, and a strange slapping sound. I looked, and four boys had chased a squirrel up the tree outside my window. Two of them had slingshots and were furiously shooting projectiles at a very scared squirrel. They'd hit it at least twice, but it didn't appear too badly injured. I hollered out the window and told them to stop. They did and ran away.

The squirrel stayed in the fork between three branches where it was hiding, nervously gnawing on the wood and trying to stay as invisible as possible. After several minutes, it awkwardly lurched down the side of the tree. It seemed a little off, but it was moving vertically down the tree and seemed alright for the most part. But when it hit the ground, I knew it wasn't.

Dazed and staggering, the squirrel kept falling over as it tried to walk on the ground. It looked like it had had a stroke. I wondered if the boys had hit it in the head. It wasn't bleeding, and none of its bones seemed broken. I hoped it was just a little punch drunk.

But then I got angry. First of all, who gives their kid a slingshot? Second, those boys were cowards. It's really easy to gang up on a tiny rodent, isn't it? What next? Their younger brother or sister? One of their pets? The scrawny kid in the schoolyard? What about their own kids, or their wife or girlfriend in another 20 years?

So I decided to do something about it.

I went outside and heard them on the other side of my building, whooping it up and clearly up to no good. As I rounded the building two of them came around, and I asked them to come and see what they had done. Then I went and found the third kid and sent him over.

I wasn't mean or threatening, but I very sternly explained to them that a slingshot is a weapon, and that if one chooses to use a weapon, one must take responsibility for what that weapon can do. I asked if they planned to eat it, or to use the pelt. Of course they didn't. So I told them I wanted them to go and watch that poor squirrel, and told them that only a coward would shoot something and run away. I told them that one of them should at least finish it off, but none of the three wanted to kill it, and each of them blamed the fourth boy, whom I never found. Still, one of them was still holding his slingshot and I had watched all four of them very giddily hunting and tormenting that animal. The two without slingshots were still throwing rocks.

And they all knew it.

At that point, a man who was outside with his dogs came over and began asking what was going on. He was on my side and joined in on chiding them, saying that this explained why there have been several other dead squirrels found on the property. He seemed like he might have known the boys, but I didn't find out. The kids looked really regretful, genuinely so. Soon after, I got a phone call and told the boys I would see them later.

I felt like a parent, or the very least like a school principal, which was such a strange role for me. But I felt this strong moral obligation to chastise them for what they did, to hold them accountable for their behavior. Clearly none of their parents had, or if they had, they had failed to make an impression on the boys. And who knows, perhaps I didn't either. But I think I might have.

The squirrel ran back up the tree and I didn't see it again. There were a few scampering around outside this morning, and they seemed alright. Who knows? Maybe the little guy I tried to save yesterday became another casualty, maybe he's alright.

It's not like I have any romanticism about squirrels, especially since they can be a destructive nuisance. But I've seen plenty of animals die, especially out fishing this summer, and I have an enormous respect for the life that is lost or threatened, especially when it's right before my eyes. Those kids didn't. But I certainly hope that when they saw the fear, the confusion, and the pain in that squirrel --- all of which THEY had caused --- that perhaps now they do too.