The Bagman Squirrel

I had always found squirrels to be adorable little creatures until that fateful fall day on the Creighton University campus, when my endearing perception of them took an unexpected turn. After attending a lecture about the history of North Omaha, I stepped outside to enjoy my sack lunch on a picturesque veranda complete with small tables and iron benches. The trees were ablaze in vibrant hues of amber and crimson as I retrieved my lunch from my backpack before sitting at a table in the shade. While gnawing on my peanut butter and jelly sandwich, I caught sight of a particularly plump squirrel rummaging exuberantly through a forgotten pile of leaves. As I paused to take in the moment, the little furball turned its sparkling eyes toward me, and for a fleeting second, I felt a deluge of affection.

With an insatiable curiosity, the lithe menace approached me hesitantly, its little nose twitching as I took a bite of my sandwich. I couldn’t resist the sun-kissed, fluffy creature’s charming antics as it spent seconds darting back and forth, trying to gauge my intentions. In a moment of weakness, and perhaps a hint of folly, I tossed a few goldfish crackers its way. To my delight, the squirrel caught them mid-air with remarkable agility, munching on them enthusiastically as crumbs scattered around its tiny paws. It seemed to relish each crunchy bite, pausing occasionally to gaze up at me with bright, piercing eyes, a perfect mix of gratitude and expectation. There was something comforting and pure in this small exchange, a reminder of the simple joys in life, as I sat there, sharing a moment of connection with this lively little creature while the world bustled around us.

This warm feeling quickly evaporated, however, when the cheeky squirrel darted toward me, its small body a blur of twitching fur and eager determination. With its bright eyes locked onto my snack bag, it approached with an audacious assertiveness that was startling. My heart raced as it climbed onto the edge of my table, its tiny paws poised like a tiny bagman demanding more of the goldfish crackers as protection against his wrath. In a fit of surprise and laughter, I hastily tossed a few more pieces in its direction, watching as it swiftly devoured my offering, its bushy tail flicking with delight.

Suddenly, I was out of crackers, and the squirrel’s demeanor shifted from curious observer to confident button, his little paws twitching with urgency. He jumped from the table and began to scurry around my feet, chattering in what I could only assume was a plea for more crackers or a threat to make me walk the bridge. The audacity of this furry little capo sent a shiver of fear down my spine. I couldn’t help but wonder: was he simply disappointed, or was this a mafia tactic to get me to surrender more? The playful nature of the squirrel turned to something almost menacing; with each leap and short dart towards me, I found myself wondering if I had crossed an invisible line with nature. What had started as a peaceful picnic lunch now felt like I a game of tug-of-war with a determined little predator, whose persistence left me contemplating whether it was truly fear or a simple yearning to be free from his relentless gaze.

Shockingly, the bushy rodent leaped onto my shoe, its tiny claws grazing my ankle, and in that instant, I realized I was no longer merely an observer in this idyllic scene; I had become an unwitting participant in a chaotic ballet of nature. My heart raced as I attempted to shake it off, evoking laughter and surprise from fellow students who witnessed the absurdity of the encounter. Terrified, I shoved the remainder of my lunch into my backpack, jumped up from the table, and began walking toward the door. Not quite finished with me, the squirrel burst forth, its beady eyes locked onto me with determination. Chattering loudly, the little creature seemed intent on making a point, darting in a zigzag pattern as if to challenge my very presence. Bewildered and alarmed, I broke into a run, suddenly realizing that my simple lunch had turned into a fight for my life! The squirrel leaped from one patch of grass to another, stopping frequently to chitter at me as if to say, “You think you can just eat lunch in my turf without paying me pizzo?”

As I sprinted towards the Eppley Building, my heart raced not just from the exertion but from the sheer ridiculousness of the chase; the fierce little squirrel—its beady eyes ablaze with animosity—was hot on my heels. The urban landscape transformed into a surreal gauntlet, where the cool shadows of the building loomed like a sanctuary, promising safety from my tiny nemesis. I burst through the glass doors, panting, only to turn abruptly and catch my breath, feeling an odd blend of relief and bewilderment. To my astonishment, there it was: the hideous brown creature perched triumphantly on the ledge outside, its fluffy tail held high as if in celebration of its victory. With an unmistakable squeak that sounded remarkably like laughter, the squirrel seemed to mock my frantic escape, a tiny don ruling over its patch of urban territory.

As I leaned against the cool glass wall, catching my breath and savoring the brief triumph of being indoors, I couldn’t help but wonder what had just transpired. The adrenaline still coursed through my veins, making the encounter seem almost mythical, as if I had narrowly escaped a folktale villain. Just then, the squirrel, that audacious little jerk, made one last leap, landing with a flair that suggested he was auditioning for a circus act. It paused, tilted its head, and for a fleeting moment, our eyes locked in silent agreement: in that urban jungle, we were both just beings fighting for our place.

A chuckle erupted from a nearby group of students who had witnessed my entire escapade. Their laughter broke the tension, and suddenly, the chase morphed from a frantic race into shared amusement. Encouraged by their lightheartedness, I took a step closer to the door, peering out at my furry adversary. In a strange twist of fate, I found myself chuckling at the silliness of it all. There was something enchanting about the squirrel's daring antics, its unabashed nature reminding me of the unpredictability that life often has to offer. I couldn’t help but admire its brashness—this little creature had taken a dull afternoon and turned it into an epic showdown of will.

With a daring grin, I slowly reached into my backpack, pulling out a granola bar. “Alright, wiseguy. How about we make a deal?” I opened the wrapper and tossed it out the door towards the squirrel, who paused, curious yet cautious. After a moment of contemplation, it hopped tentatively closer, before grabbing the edge of the bar in its tiny paws and scurrying away to inspect my protection payment in safety. Just like that, the tension dissipated, replaced by a shared moment of peaceful coexistence.

My mock execution at Creighton transformed my view of squirrels from charming little acrobats to unpredictable, bold mobsters, reminding me of the dangers of wildlife—even in the serene backdrop of academia. Therefore, from that day forward I have remembered to pay copious amounts of pizzo to the squirrels in my borgata.