The Squirrel and the Campground Cook

In June 2003 my wife's family met at Kiabab Lake, near Williams, Arizona, for our biennial reunion. The campground sits among tall pines fifty-four miles south of the Grand Canyon. At 7,000-foot elevation, comfortable days and cool nights make the area a treasured respite from summer heat in the Valley to the south.

On Sunday morning several relatives met in our motorhome for coffee and a last visit before each family group headed out.

We were engaged in gentle conversation when someone pointed and said, "Look,there's a squirrel."

Everyone watched in silence as the long-tailed critter crossed the road and jumped onto the camp table of my sister-in-law Beverly and her husband, Larry. We had seen no sign of the couple since the evening before.

The rodent poked his head inside a paper bag and backed out with a leftover biscuit. He ran across the road and high-tailed it up a tree with his prize.

Our talk picked up again and in a few minutes the tuft-eared creature reappeared and headed for the table again. This time most of his body disappeared inside the bag, leaving only a gray tail waving outside. Within seconds he backed out with a chunk of bread larger than his head and started for his tree. For some reason he stopped in the middle of the road, stood on his hind legs and turned the biscuit over. It was black on the bottom.

Suddenly the animal turned and headed back toward the table, biscuit still in his mouth.

"It's burned," someone said. "He's taking it back."

The motorhome rocked with laughter.

Of course after Larry got up everyone in camp kidded him about the squirrel being so picky it refused his cooking.

Story ID:	3129
Written by:	James Baker (bio, contact, other stories)
Organization:	Writers' Circle
Story type:	Diary/Journal Entry
Location:	Williams AZ USA
Year:	2003
Person:	Larry