There are many squirrels in parks of DC. People watch them and feed them. One of my colleagues, a journalist, fed them, too. To attract squirrels’ attention, she would call them: “Come here, little zaika (bunny), come over here!” Bunny!? Boy! After that don’t tell me journalists are full of trite cliches!
We took pictures, and felt good, sentimental, and greenpeaceful about feeding the little creatures – until one shabby pissed-off looking squirrel bit my journalist friend by the finger and ran away busily. He stopped for a moment and looked back, as if saying: “That will teach you all a lesson! And don’t you call us no bunnies no more!” He looked at me then: "And don't you try anything either, you bunny-lover!" Well, it did teach us all a lesson. From that day on we did not feed any mad March squirrels any more in parks of DC.
I feel a trifle jealous of my squirrel-bitten friend. Just imagine. Next time she wants to breathe in some life into an idle conversation, she can say something like: “And by the way, have you ever been bitten by a squirrel?”
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