Squirrels of questionable moral character

Most days around lunch time I can be found in Washington Square park, taking in the sites of whatever book I am lost in that day and doing my best to ignore the world spinning around me. Parks, and this one in particular, are great places to get lost in. Leaves fall in your path, couples cuddle underneath trees, musicians you think too talented to be playing in a park serenade you with impromptu jazz, and people generally leave you alone. Add in the recent discovery of the city's lone Chick Fil A in one of the dorms surrounding the park and if it's not snowing/sleeting/freezing outside I'll probably be eating my ever so gourmet food on one of the city's finest benches, ignoring the hustle of my real life.

As I said the people here tend to leave you be anywhere and demand that you do the same towards them. You won't hear any "Howdy"s or head nods walking down the streets but instead a mass of people doing their best to pretend the other millions don't exist. So it is no shock that in a park, in a sanctuary of quite the only human's pestering you is the NYU grad student protesting a combination of national/international/local events that "need your urgent attention."

The people will leave you be, but the animals will not. It started about a month ago. I was sitting on the edge oblivious to the world outside my book and my sandwhich when a squirrel climbed the bench to peak in my water bottle, knocking the thing off its perch. This time the animal quickly scooted away to a safe distance before taking up a position to stare at me and my food.

Last week the squirrels, having obviously taken a cue from Venetian pigeons, mistook me for one of the crazies who regularly feeds them. I've seen these mysterious people whistling their way through the eastern side of the park, dispensing peanuts to all around. They cut a disturbingly loud path when one is trying to maintain being lost. Having sat on the bench with a lunchable and a fruit smoothy I am not sure where the squirrels saw the resemblence, but a pack tiny beggers appeared shortly after I sat, some inching forward between glances at my grocery bag. The fearless rodent on my right climbed the bench next to me and sat staring, in a pose much like my dog does when begging for pizza. I didn't pay it too much attention until the next one came even closer and sniffed at my now empty bag before fleeing when I turned towards it.

All of this I could have understood. They had wanted food but had still run with fear as if rumor of my bb gun toting Texas self had spread north. But then a third squirell climbed up and sniffed my hand, leaving only after several moments of sniffing confirmed the food was safely locked away in my belly. I tossed whatever crumbs were left in the box to the side and thought that would be it, but the movement only served to ignite their passion for food. Before I had finished sipping at a water bottle the last squirrel had climbed up my leg and paused in my lap, sniffing furiously for peanuts or turkey or whatever feast it may hold.

It left only when the familiar shreik of the crazy squirrel feeding lady approached. In true New Yorker fashion she gave me a dirty look as she passed.