Creature Rescues
The Day Dad Resuscitates the Squirrel Drowning in our Swimming Pool by Shelly Blankman
My sister, brother and I were still sopping wet from swimming in our backyard pool and we’d gone into the kitchen to dry off. like we always did. We giggled as always as Mom reminded us to wipe our feet so we didn’t track any muddy grass from the yard on her freshly waxed floor. We were all preteen, and getting in trouble was our favorite part.
As we left to go upstairs, I saw something in the pool. It was small and reddish, floating like a dinghy in the water, its orange tail limp.
We always saw squirrels where we lived. They blanketed the evergreen trees in front of our house. And they always made happy noises. This little guy didn’t stand a chance.
We called dad, who was upstairs working, and begged him to help. Saving a drowning squirrel was not his forte, but he was always up to a challenge. He took the net meant for cleaning algae and bugs out of the pool and scooped out the poor squirrel and cradled into what now looked like giant hands.
He whispered to me to get him a washcloth and swaddled the squirrel, gently squeezing its sides several times.
The tiny squirrel finally opened his eyes, facing a grown man who’d earned an 8th degree black belt in karate. He then scurried off, perhaps to dry in the sun and spend the rest of his life just being a squirrel.
April 22, Morning Walk by Joe Cottonwood
Panicky cheeping to my ears.
A dozen ducklings in a storm drain
deep as I am tall
can't climb can't fly can't escape
except down the big pipe.
Mama duck above the drain
stands frantic, flapping and quacking.
So I lower myself
into gloppy gunk over my ankles.
Scoop with my clasped hands
twelve fuzzy wigglers
with underbellies of slime
one by one
and set them above.
Mama duck warns of discipline
as smelly ducklings in a peep line
follow her to cattails, and gone.
I resume my walk in mucky shoes,
socks stinking of rot.
Had to do it. Right?
Happy Earth Day.
Two poems by Sharon Waller Knutson
Tis the Season
Going outside. Got to get the roof fixed
before the monsoons, my husband says
as I sit at the computer answering emails.
I feel something soft moving
under my bare feet and scramble
on unsteady legs, knee screaming.
A two-inch creature crawls towards me
as I squint through eighty-year-old eyes.
Is it a tarantula, scorpion, or another
desert creature escaping the hot sun?
The saw screeches from the sun porch.
I stare out the sliding glass door
as my husband climbs the ladder to the roof.
The creature follows me as hanging
onto the bedpost I head for the shoe
pile next to the nightstand so I can
walk outside and call to him.
As I pick up the only shoe that fits
my swollen foot, I turn and a tiny mouse
stares up at me. My heart lurches
and I drop the shoe. Where’s your mother?
I ask the trembling creature at my feet.
I find a cup on the nightstand
and place it in front of the mouse
which freezes and stands and stares.
I shut the door and collapse on the couch
until my husband appears. Are you okay?
There’s a baby mouse in the bedroom, I say.
We’ve got to find the mother. My husband
opens the door, scoots the mouse into the cup
and as he heads out, says. I just released
a big mouse outside this morning.
I glance over at the window to see a lizard
plastered to the glass staring outside
where the baby mouse runs to his mother.
Tis the summer season, I say, laughing.
The Mousetrap is Missing
from the kitchen counter
my husband discovers
as he brews his coffee.
He hears clattering
and clomping
on the tile
as a mouse drags
the trap behind him
like a heavy suitcase.
Sees the trap containing
the mouse tail tipped
on its side outside
a cupboard while
the mouse is inside
making mischief.
While my husband
grabs a giant glove
to pick up the trap
and captor, the crafty
culprit makes its getaway
and the game of Man
and Mouse or Catch
A Mouse by the Tail
continues for ten days
until we hear a clacking
noise in the living room
and see the trap bouncing
on the tile and my husband
grabs the trap and carries
it outside and releases the mouse.