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The Squirrel 🐿️ Who Couldn't Grip
I'm not like other squirrels. I know that. I've accepted it ever since I was young and they laughed and called me names. I have no grip, I don't know why. Yeah, I'm different and they know it, and I know it too. I try to climb, I grip on with my front and back legs and I use my claws like I've seen others do... but eventually it fails. I know I'm different, I accept that, so why can't they?
When I was born our drey was warm and cozy but small. I was the last, and rather weak and therefore neglected. My siblings always had the lion's share of the food from mother. I was the fifth in her litter, the one nobody really paid attention to. Even in those first few weeks before I opened my eyes I didn't have the strength to pull and push like them. Mother did her best to ensure I didn't die, just enough to keep me not hating the cruel world that seemed to surround me. And when I left that insular world of protection, around week twelve, I followed the others into the bright light of day.
I was so very curious. I'd sniffed the air outside, and seen the big blue of above. I knew the feel of tree bark and the smell of leaves. I was even familiar with certain tree climbing insects, and the birds of course. They were always taunting us squirrels. The other pups edged along the main bough under our home. It was big and wide, and we were tentative at first. But they soon gained their confidence, and I, inspired by their gains in skill, had all the tough bravado I thought I needed to survive in this world. But I had no grip. My limbs would hold on to the trunk, and I soon slipped and fell to my parents utter dismay and my siblings amusement.
The big black crows were beside themselves laughing. They nicknamed me "the flying squirrel" because I was often airborne. My parents were alarmed, and soon their encouragement of "climb" "come on,like this" turned to words like "you're not trying" or "lazy bones". That soon spiralled as they saw me only ever get as far as the lowest branches. I'd try to go higher, I'd aim high. Yet though my nails dug in deep and I tried to heave my bodyweight up, I always fell again. It wasn't long before the words "loser" "bungee bungler" and "freefaller"...
When I was born our drey was warm and cozy but small. I was the last, and rather weak and therefore neglected. My siblings always had the lion's share of the food from mother. I was the fifth in her litter, the one nobody really paid attention to. Even in those first few weeks before I opened my eyes I didn't have the strength to pull and push like them. Mother did her best to ensure I didn't die, just enough to keep me not hating the cruel world that seemed to surround me. And when I left that insular world of protection, around week twelve, I followed the others into the bright light of day.
I was so very curious. I'd sniffed the air outside, and seen the big blue of above. I knew the feel of tree bark and the smell of leaves. I was even familiar with certain tree climbing insects, and the birds of course. They were always taunting us squirrels. The other pups edged along the main bough under our home. It was big and wide, and we were tentative at first. But they soon gained their confidence, and I, inspired by their gains in skill, had all the tough bravado I thought I needed to survive in this world. But I had no grip. My limbs would hold on to the trunk, and I soon slipped and fell to my parents utter dismay and my siblings amusement.
The big black crows were beside themselves laughing. They nicknamed me "the flying squirrel" because I was often airborne. My parents were alarmed, and soon their encouragement of "climb" "come on,like this" turned to words like "you're not trying" or "lazy bones". That soon spiralled as they saw me only ever get as far as the lowest branches. I'd try to go higher, I'd aim high. Yet though my nails dug in deep and I tried to heave my bodyweight up, I always fell again. It wasn't long before the words "loser" "bungee bungler" and "freefaller"...
