All summer there is a squirrel who has been getting ready for the winter. I sit here and watch him jump from the ground into the low hanging branches of the oak tree to get acorns. (I see him from the patio door next to my computer.) Or cavort through the tops of the trees, probably over 50-60 feet up, maybe more. I just noticed that he has dug dozens, literally dozens, of holes throughout the entire back yard. I'll bet if I stopped mowing I'd have an oak forest back there. As it is, over the years I've transplanted six oaks that grew from acorns in sheltered places. Two are now over 20 feet, one is over 10 feet, three that are stunted from too much shade, a maple I moved last year that is hanging in at 2 feet, and one oak that died this summer. The last one might have been too young, about six inches when I moved it. The oaks are all courtesy of this squirrel who forgot where he put his dinner. I also have to clean up the mess he made of the torn leaves. I love it . There has to be a principle of animal-initiated human/animal cohabitation. This squirrel, for example. Why are my trees so much more enticing than the trees in the woods? Or the groundhogs who prefer real estate ventures under my rhodos instead of in the woods. In fairness though, there is a huge groundhog condominium in the woods on my property line that's been there for years. Or, my personal favorite, the birds who prefer my (now covered) drainpipes and trees against the house instead of the trees in the woods. Instead of running from people, the animals adapt around us. And with that, I gotta make like a squirrel and earn my dinner. Andy Amago ------------------------------------------------------------------ To change your Lit-Ideas settings (subscribe/unsub, vacation on/off, digest on/off), visit www.andreas.com/faq-lit-ideas.html