The Ice Squirrel

If you're lucky and observant enough, nature provides opportunities to make you laugh when you least expect it.  Take Squirrels, for example.  Their antics seem almost human at times.  It's as if they know we're watching and they can't resist the urge to show off.  Or as if by clowning around, they know they'll bring a little joy to an otherwise dull day, like one did once for me, when I least expected it.

I was driving on a winter day in the suburbs of Chicago, bored with the tedium of being stuck in traffic.  The midday traffic I traveled in was heavy, poking along bumper-to-bumper.  As the cars approached a traffic light, it turned red, and we all stopped.  After waiting through four light changes, I began to get really bored.  When the light turned red once more I had a couple of minutes to wait before inching forward.  I looked over my left shoulder and couldn't believe what I saw.

In the front yard of a house sat a little oval patch of ice about twenty feet long and about ten feet wide.  It was smooth as glass and glistened in the bright sunlight.  It sort of looked like a little skating rink.  About six feet away from the edge of the ice, a squirrel stood.  I didn't think much about it until I saw the squirrel suddenly run as fast as it could through the snow, heading for the ice.  Upon reaching it, the squirrel quickly splayed its body out flat, and with its momentum propelling it, sped on its belly across the ice, spinning around in circles with its tail standing straight up in the air as it went.  It slid all the way across the little frozen pond until it reached the snow bank on the other side and sent a puff of ice crystals into the air.  Then the squirrel popped up and shook itself vigorously to remove the snow on its fur.  I couldn't believe what I was seeing!  An ice-sliding squirrel was having the time of its life!  I found it hard to believe an animal could be having this kind of fun on purpose, so I kept watching to see what would happen next.

I didn't have long to wait.  The squirrel bounded about six feet away from the edge of the ice, and turned around.  It stood there for a couple of seconds, and then took off running as fast as it could toward the ice again.  When it got there, it did the same exact thing it did before, splaying its body out flat, spinning in circles across the ice, and splashing into the snow on the opposite side.  I imagined that if I were standing there close, I'd probably hear it laughing.

This squirrel was really having a wonderful time.  I looked around to see if any of the other drivers had noticed this bizarre sight, and realized that none had apparently.

Somewhere ahead of me I could see a couple of cars begin to move forward slowly, but I didn't budge an inch.  I couldn't wait to see that squirrel go zipping across the ice a couple more times before I had to leave.  I was having too much fun watching it enjoy a winter sport that it had discovered all on its own.  Eventually, I had to start moving forward. I regretted having to move so far ahead that I couldn't see the squirrel clearly anymore.

As I sat there, watching the traffic light change, and waited to move forward slowly again, I envied that happy squirrel and the fun he was having back there on that tiny patch of ice on a cold winter's day. I also thanked nature privately for showing me this sight.

Although I witnessed that hilarious incident over fifteen years ago, I have never forgotten it, and I know I never will.  And it taught me that a serendipitous glance at the right moment could reward me with an opportunity to smile that I might ordinarily miss.

Now, whenever I get stuck at a traffic light somewhere, and the cars are just inching along, I think back to that cold winter morning and the ice-sliding squirrel.  And if its winter, I give a glance over my shoulder hoping I might get lucky again.