This morning, well below zero, I watch two Grey Squirrels outside from the perch of my second story window. One looks at me through the glass as he shakes snow from his paws. Their muscles seem a little tense, from the cold. They move stiffly, sending puffs of snow to the ground as they travel the length of the thick tree branch. Today they move more closely together and with less talking than usual.
Watching them, I decide that I like squirrels as much as I like birds. But it is cold, and today, I'm glad I'm neither.