My Buddy (part 2)

I ran over as fast as I could and felt as if I were watching someone else as I knelt down on the rocks and plunged my hand deep into the near-freezing water. I grabbed My Buddy as he came up to the surface, but he slid out of my hand and sank back into the water. Desperate, I reached down further and lost my balance and fell forward half way into the pond. I struggled up and out of the water and he surfaced again-belly up, head limp-and then he sank back down. I had lost all sense of time: how long had he been down? I knew that if I didn't pull him out, he would not come up again, so again I searched for him in the water where he had disappeared. I finally found him and lifted him up, being very careful not to hurt him anymore than he already was. He felt so light.

To this day, I really don't know how I got My Buddy safely up onto to the patio, but I did. Then I managed to get myself out of the pond and I stood there, watching him, to make sure that he was still alive and breathing. He stood up, took a couple of steps, and slipped. He rested a few seconds, then got up again, took a few tentative steps, then fell again. He was wet and coated in muck, but he seemed okay.

Then I noticed the sharp stink of pond scum. It was me, or should I say it was my wet pajamas. I walked into the house dripping smelly water onto the floor, my pajamas caked and clinging to my body. I reached the basement stairs and stripped off my smelly clothes and slippers and left them lying there. I walked into the bedroom and found my housecoat. Then I grabbed a towel from the bathroom and went back outside, looking for My Buddy to see if I could dry him off. By now he had made his way to the back of the yard. As I walked towards him, he became frightened. My efforts were scaring him more than he already was. I stood still as, slowly, he made his way up the fence, rested there for a while, then disappeared. I hoped that he had a warm home to go to where he could recover.

As I stood there, the shock began to wear off and I started to hurt. My arms and legs were scraped and bruised. They were bleeding. But somehow, it didn't seem to matter that much because tomorrow all would be back to "normal" and My Buddy would come for breakfast as usual. I was already figuring out how to get him his food and how I might better protect him from the other squirrels.

Did it matter that I was bruised, scraped, and hurting? No. I would do it again, even knowing that I would get hurt. Why, with all the big important things happening in the world, did one little squirrel matter so much to me? Because, there may not be much I can do about the big important stuff, but I can take care of my little corner of the world. And in my little corner of the world, even a scrawny little "pest of a squirrel" is important.
It's fall now, and getting cold again. I still have one of the bruises, a big one, on my knee. My morning rituals remain, and I look for My Buddy every morning. But he hasn't returned since that morning.

Copyright 2003 True Life Story Contest

© 2003 True Life Story Contest