PD’s father owned a camp a couple of hours from here. It was in a beautiful and secluded wooded area and would make an excellent place to invite a beautiful woman for a nice weekend escape and PD, being no dummy, did that very thing. And I accepted.
New to this whole “camp” scenario, I didn’t know that the propane tanks which enable cooking and heating inside the camp would be stored in a shed off to the edge of the property, probly about twenty feet from the camp itself. C’mon. I was a city girl long before I became a country girl… At any rate, the shed had been built amid a blind of pine trees. Very. Tall. Pine. Trees. It was dark in the shed. I don’t remember if there was electricity in there, but I stood outside under the pines while PD unlocked the padlock on the door of the shed and stepped inside. I was to find out later that the loud whooshing sound I heard was from the air escaping the tank when he opened the valve to turn on the propane. It was quite startling since I did not expect the noise. AND it was loud. Evidently the squirrel in the tree must have been at least as startled as I was because, mid-whoosh, he dove straight down out of the tree
like a furry gray torpedo and landed directly on my head for a second or two… his tiny paws scrambling around in my hair to get his footing long enough to dive yet again. This time, to the ground and he shot off into the woods, most likely to a backwoods version of Urgi-Care to have a full cardio work-up to make sure he wasn’t having a heart attack. Me? I would never relax outside the confines of my own home, ever again.
Maybe a better title for this post may have been “Squirrel, Interrupted…”