It was December of 1997, the week before final exams. My dear friend Sara Kough (whose page you can visit at Rampart 1041) was staying in my room for a few days. The weather was cool, and we didn't have many classes. Needless to say, we were all rather bored.
One Thursday, we were sitting in the cafeteria eating breakfast and trying to decide what we wanted to do. Sara said that she had two jars of peanuts in her room, and she wanted to feed the squirrels in the Oak Grove. I agreed to the plan; it seemed like a good idea. (No one else would join us. Perhaps we could have been warned ... )
Sara lived in Langham Hall, which is rather far from my building, Whitmyre, so we left for her residence hall to get the nuts. Unfortunately, one of the jars was broken. Sara, ever resourceful, put half of the nuts in a paper bag, and we left to look for some squirrels.
At first, we couldn't find any squirrels anywhere; but at last we spied one sitting under a little tree. I some peanuts to it, and it ate them. Sara threw some nuts, and it ate those, too. Then she asked me if I was brave enough to let it eat out of my hand. I said I would try, although I didn't think it would take food from me. So I put a nut in my hand, and it came up and took the offered peanut! I was excited, because the squirrel looked so cute while it was holding up the nut to chew. (Forgive my sappiness, but have *you* ever watched a squirrel eat? Is there any other word for it, besides "cute"?) I fed it another nut, then Sara fed it some, and we did this for a few minutes, but then we became bored. We left the area to look for more and better squirrels.
We spied two lovely specimens in the Oak Grove, and decided it wouldbe better if Sara worked on one, while I tried to soften the other. So I walked over to the little squirrel and threw some peanuts to it. Like a good squirrel, it ate them. After about three or four, I tried to get it to eat from my hand -- I put the nut on my fingertips, and, lo and behold, it took the nut. I gave it another. And while the squirrel was eating, another squirrel came.
I thought that I could feed both squirrels at the same time, so I put another nut on my hand for the newcomer. The squirrel ran up to me and bit my hand, latching onto my finger with great force, using both its teeth and its claws! I yelled and shook it off, and it ran away. I noticed that the beastie had only half of its tail, the scrawny bugger, and I thought that if I had only half of my tail, I would be angry as well.
I yelled to Sara that I was bleeding, but she only laughed and continued to feed the squirrels. I stood around forlornly for a while, but then put a tissue on my finger and joined her in throwing nuts until she had to go to her psychology class.
When she left, I returned to my residence hall and told the story to everyone I found in the building. Then I washed my wound with soap, put a bandage on my finger, and went back to life as normal.
Later, I was working at my computer when someone appeared at the door. It was my Resident Advisor, or RA, Ted. He asked me if I wanted to go to the health center. I said no. I knew there would be a long wait, and I was afraid the nurses would yell at me for feeding the squirrels. Well, with Ted was another man, Tim, the residence director. Tim told me I had to go to the health center; it was not a question. I didn't want to go, but at his insistence, I called the health center, and the woman there told me the same thing: I had to go. So I went.
But one of the doctors hadn't come in that day, and there were many people in the waiting room with appointments and problems more serious than mine. So I waited; I read the entire Penn for the day, and all of the other old magazines. I wrote part of an essay for my math class, and I even slept a little. Then, while I waited, Sara came in! She had returned from her class, found out what happened, and come to find me and keep me company. I was very glad, because I had been supposed to meet her and let her into Whitmyre when she got out of psych -- I felt rather rude for sitting in the silly old health center while she threw rocks at my bedroom window! And shortly after she arrived, I was finally able to see a doctor. As I had expected, she yelled at me and said I shouldn't feed the squirrels. Then she gave me more bandages and a tube of medicine and sent me home (but not before schedulong a follow-up appointment for 8 am five days later!)
Later that evening, I was eating dinner in the HUB, our student union building, and sitting peacefully at a little table when my RA Ted showed up. In a very loud voice, he called out, "I'M SO GLAD YOU DON'T HAVE RABIES!" I blushed, being more than a little embarrassed. My finger hurt. It was quite an experience.
The moral of the story is: NEVER TRUST A SQUIRREL!!!
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