Sunday, October 4, 2009

Ember...

Love does not come with conditions. It is given freely and accepted gratefully. Among all virtues, love is sublime. In the cause of love, we assume any burden and dare any challenge. Love is a divine gift. It blesses giver and receiver equally. Love nourishes the spirit and ennobles our character. It is the finest part of humanity and the truest proof of God. 


At something less than two pounds, Ember Squirrel’s influence far exceeded her size. Whether it was her large, soulful eyes, her bushy tail with its smoldering colors or her exuberant personality, Ember could entice a smile from even the grimmest of visitors. World-weary travelers, hardbitten executives, solemn proselytizers, serious professionals, indifferent tradesmen, casual guests...they all succumbed to Ember’s irresistible charm. Children, especially, were fascinated by her athletic antics and sheer energy. 


My mother, Mary Luella, suffered from a lifelong fear of rodents. Just the thought of an innocuous mouse in the vicinity would propel my mom to the top of the nearest table. But she, too, was seduced by the magic of my little squirrel. Pictures of Ember dancing about my shoulders and head adorned my mother’s hospital room wall. My mother believed in miracles. And her affection for Ember was nothing short of miraculous. 


Ember arrived in my life in 1998. One of several orphaned babies, Ember and her siblings were rescued by the kindness of three Animal Control Officers who put compassion ahead of policy and saved the helpless infants. Delivered from the tender mercy of euthanasia, Ember’s fate was placed into the dubious care of my hands. It was obvious that bottle-feeding an unweaned tree squirrel was a talent conspicuously missing from my skill set. But inspired by Ember’s enthusiastic appetite, I did my best and Ember somehow managed to survive my ineptitude as a suckling mother. 


As the years passed, Ember’s place in the family was fortified by a universal respect, not only for her walnut-cracking teeth, but for her generous spirit. If the cats could move at supersonic speed, Ember could achieve Faster-Than-Light velocity at the twitch of a whisker. Yet despite the occasional feline provocation, Ember never harmed anyone; not so much as a bite. To paraphrase a Leatherneck creed that defines the relationship between a Marine and his rifle, Ember might have said, “this is my human. There are many like him. But this one is mine.” The sentiment went both ways. 


Ember died last year. It was a brief illness that, by degrees, stole my little squirrel’s vitality and finally her life; but never her sweet spirit. Near the end, having lost the gifts of her youth, Ember would crawl close to me, resting her head next to mine. Many would describe this affection as a fluke or chance. I know better. We shared my tears. As much as I ever did for Ember, my little squirrelfriend gave me so much more. I buried Ember under the shade of a young tree in the front yard...Ember’s tree. This was her home. It will remain so always. 


I love you, little girl...

3 comments:

Unknown said...

Aww, I'm so sorry. You made me cry... :-( Thanks for sharing Ember's story with us. How amazing it must've been to have a squirrel for a friend. I've always fed the wild ones outside my house. What a sight the two of you must've made.

Wraithsword said...

Love comes in many shapes and sizes...I am a lucky man.

Thank you, Christine

Le Maat said...

When I was a kid my sciences professor would say animals dont feel pleasure, and could not have feelings as love. Whoever had a pet know it is not truth.
if humans have more brain, pets have more heart. Good work, Rick. Go on writing.