SQUIRREL-SNIFFER

So, I was driving over by the University of Minnesota campus on a sunny, Sunday afternoon in February of 2005. Not a lot of cars of the road, just me, in fact. Well, I saw this well dressed man: nice slacks, long dress coat, blue button-up shirt and well-behaved nut-brown hair. He was French… or, at least, he looked like my ex-boyfriend Karl whose last name was French, who wrote poetry and had a ballerina for a mother (never underestimate the genetic stock of ballerinas), so I was totally taken in. I was smitten.

Being a Sunday morning, there weren’t any other cars around. Students didn’t live about this area of campus and the ones who did weren’t knocking about this early in the day and I took full advantage of their absence. I drove slowly down the road taking special care to fix the coyest of coy looks upon my face. I practically hugged the curb with my Geo-Prism so there would be a mere three feet of sod separating me from my side-walk dwelling dream stud. I took pains to turn my head towards him as conspicuously as possible thinking that he’d catch my eye, recognize me as the girl of his dreams and... I don't know what I thought we'd do after that, get married and make beautiful French babies who danced divinely, loved nature and were always smartly dressed? Anyhow, at this point he veered off the sidewalk into a little grassy knoll. I watched his sweet little meander into the grass thinking, “Yes, I too walk the path less trod. I too love the damp smell of the earth and the beauty of wild, planted and fertilized grass in the city.” When he stooped down and picked up a dead squirrel.

Yeah, I know.

I stopped at a red light at that moment (thank God, otherwise I would've crashed) and as I watched him with the dead, and it must be said, less than fuzzy squirrel, he lowered his head to his hand and sniffed it. He then put the carcass down on the ground and as if we’ve always worn our underwear on our heads or routinely solicited our close relatives for sex, he turned around and ambled serenely back to the sidewalk smelling his fingers. I couldn't believe my eyes. I looked all around to see if there were any other cars or fellow witnesses but the streets remained unjustly barren! I turned my attention to my now very green light and watched him, slack-jawed and mouth-breathing, through my rearview mirror as he fell back into the distance.

As I made my way to the Southern Theater, I felt one thing was certain. I must tell someone as soon as possible so that none of the details would fade from my memory. I accosted my choreographer in the parking lot first and once the shock of the first telling wore off, I gleefully repeated the story to all of the dancers once we had reached the theater. I must let you know that as I told this story, we were putting on our costumes for a performance that was to take place within the hour.

The show we were to perform that day was quite a troubling one; it dealt with the war in Iraq, death, patriotism and it all weighed heavily on our minds. Layered on top of our show, we had our own minor worries: relationships on the brink, cold sores, injuries, money troubles, relatives who were ill; things that you work hard to forget when you have to carry the physical, mental and emotional toll of a show for an hour. That Squirrel-Sniffer became the oddity that instantly banished all else from the dancers’ minds that day. Except for me. One small realization began to creep into my mind mid-show, form conclusions by the final curtain and had wormed its way to the front by the time we were greeting the audience in the lobby: if these people, these "squirrel-sniffers", are the ones I am attracted to… I'm totally doomed.

P.S.

As I have repeated this tale, it's always a question of “did he see me looking at him and sniff the squirrel for effect? Or, did he not see me and sniff if because he wanted to? “ Apparently I'm the only one who has had the privilege of beholding a Squirrel-Sniffer, but I have shared this experience with all of my dance students, colleagues, friends, and now you because I have had to get people on the look out. When or if you ever find him, please…for me, ask "why?”