I have squirrels in my back yard - one in particular who will climb on to my patio screen and chatter until I toss him a scrap of bread or a cracker. (I've named him Marvin.) He snatches his treats and hops to a safe distance where he can watch me warily as he nibbles. (We've run this routine for a good year now.) Because I have cats (and until recently, a dog) who can fly out the pet door at any moment, most of the other critters keep their distance. But Marvin is always there. He taunts the cats (and has tussled with one of them at least once) and flaunts his courage to the other squirrels who stay far away - close to their escape routes.
This morning, he used my head as a landing pad and jumped from the screen to my noggin and then hopped down within 8 inches of my feet and looked up as if to say, "Your move, giant woman."
I tossed him a scrap of bread, and instead of snatching it and retreating to a safe distance like he always does, he stayed. Nibbled right there at my feet.
I crouched down to be closer. He flinched, but didn't bolt. After a second he resumed eating, and upon finishing his treat looked to me for the next one. I held out my hand.
He sniffed the air, inched closer, stood 'at the ready' (I could swear I saw him take a deep breath) inched closer again - and snatched a bit of tortilla right out of my hand with the slightest brush of fur and tiny nails. Again, he didn't retreat - just sat there and ate his fill.
Trust.
It took us a year to build.
No words, no 'relationship status', no intentions, no expectations. My patience. His courage. A mutual respect for the damage we could inflict upon one another. Care (mostly on my part) not to compromise that respect. To honor it - nurture it - celebrate it. (Quietly, and without any sudden movements.)
I imagine this wouldn't mean much to most people, but to me... it's everything.
Trust can be rebuilt. It will take time. It will take patience and courage.
The rewards, though intangible, are what feed my soul.
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