Life As a Ground Squirrel

I once read an article about a man who wanted to live like a mountain goat, to see what it felt like. So he dressed himself in sheep’s clothing and started hanging out with the herd, eating grass, moving up and down the hillside with the rest of the goats, who seemed to accept him, and laying down with them at night on the rocky slopes.  

Although I don’t remember all the details now, I was intrigued by the idea, as crazy as it sounds. We’re so human-centric, we rarely see the world from the perspective of animals (that is, non-human animals), except for an occasional glimpse into our pets’ lives.

Since my post a few weeks ago about animals missing in action, I’m happy to report a boom in the population of chipmunks and ground squirrels at the cabin. For the past few weeks, I’ve entertained myself watching them go about their daily lives.

From the deck, I have a front-row view of their lives. I try to imagine what I look like to these tiny creatures, no more than 4-5 inches long: a huge beast but with eyes like theirs. I could be a tree except that I occasionally move. Sometimes the squirrel stares straight at me, and it almost feels like a squirrel-human mind flow.

When it’s not trying to stare me down, I watch it in the field: its small paws tugging at a plant, taking a bite and then moving on. One smart chipmunk figured out that if it nips the flower at the base, it doesn’t have to stand all the way up but can  nibble at ground level.

Another ground squirrel will come by, and the two chase each other through the grasses and under the porch. They (and the chipmunks) partake of the water in the rain barrel, where I stuck a log so they can crawl down and get water. The ground squirrels, chipmunks and gray squirrels use the fences around the yard as a super-highway; it’s so much faster than making your way through the grasses when you want to get someplace.

They like to take dirt baths, finding an open patch and digging deeper to create a more concave space to roll around in, with such joy and abandon I’m tempted to try it myself. I know it’s partly to remove fleas, because I watch them scratch their arms and faces, and kick at their backsides.

The ground squirrels, in particular, are as curious about me as I am about them, coming up on the deck to check me out, staring at me for minutes on end, standing on their hind legs, their paws grasped in front of them in curiously human poses.

When one was trying to find a better platform to observe me, it jumped over to the ponderosa pine in front of the cabin, but its nails aren’t sharp enough to go too high, unlike the chipmunks, which I’ve seen climb to the top of a tree.

What is life like for this small animal, the one that charms visitors at Rocky Mountain National Park, that has figured out how to beg for food in such a cute way that most tourists can’t resist throwing them nuts, even though signs all over the park warn against feeding wildlife.

“Every animal is enclosed within its own sensory bubble, perceiving but a tiny sliver of an immense world,” science journalist Ed Yong wrote in a recent article in the Atlantic. “There is a wonderful word for this sensory bubble—Umwelt,” referring to what an animal can sense and experience—its perceptual world.

So a ground squirrel’s Umwelt would be the sense of the rocky ground under its feet, the world viewed through tall grasses and flowers, the texture of the tree bark, the myriad smells (that I can’t even begin to catalog), the sensation of the wind through its fur, the taste of the grasses and flowers (and occasional nut that I accidentally drop).

These charming animals seem so relaxed, even content, that I wonder how aware they are (especially the young ones) of the dangers: a goshawk from above, a weasel from below (I’ve seen them going into the squirrels’ underground burrows), coyotes and bobcats suddenly pouncing.

Still, there’s part of me that wants to partake of their life. I’m too creaky and the ground is too hard for me to get down on all fours and run through the grasses. But this is what I learn from these small creatures: enjoy the moment. Do not concern yourself with things you can’t control. Let’s run through the grass, nibble on the  flowers, feel the dirt under our feet, the wind in our fur. Life is good.

Comments

[Julene A Bair]

You make the life of a ground squirrel sound positively delightful. Also the life of a ground squirrel watcher. If there were some ground squirrels around here, that's exactly how I'd spend my afternoon.

[Jennifer Woodhull]

What a lovely post, Kathy. It makes me want to add to "run through the grass, nibble on the flowers, feel the dirt under our feet, the wind in our fur" another suggestion: "read Kathy's Cabin Journal"!

Your post further reminds me of the great philosophical/scientific debate about the nature of consciousness. One of the preeminent academic articles in this field is called "What Is It Like to Be a Bat?" (Thomas Nagel, 1974).

[Sally]

I always wanted to be wild 👍. I lived in the woods and spent time in the wilderness but it is not easy to be wild for a human but these little guys make it look easy cause it probably is for them so adapted. Really a lovely article❣️ Such cute pictures and fun to imagine there life and what they observe when they sit and stare at us.

[Sally Hanson]

Those are the cutest pictures!