By Mike Johnson
I’ve wasted a lot of hours during my 67 years.
But not the one I spent breaking the peanut record.
Four pine squirrels patronize my woodpile.
Only one was brave enough to take the peanut from my hand.
Like his great-grandmother, I call him Fluffy.
She was my buddy for six years, loping in when I called, taking peanuts from my hand.
After she passed, I didn’t have the heart to train her kids.
Until a couple weeks ago.
Now her kids have kids.
The youngest and the bravest, this new Fluffy came close enough to encourage me.
Sure enough, by delaying all other morning food, he tentatively took the peanut from my hand.
Once he saw I was safe, it was game on.
With Fluffy #1, the old record was 40 peanuts in a row.
She’d take the peanut, lick it, run off to hide it in her fallen log home and return for another.
The new fluffy lives in that log too.
He takes the same route through the trees, along the tiny path on the ground, back to the log.
One peanut after another.
After 32 peanuts, there was a long pause.
Then a drink of water from the bird bath.
Then his second wind kicked in.
A bit of suspense at peanut #39, a big smile at peanut #40 and a dose of melancholy at #41.
"Good boy!"
I stopped at 44 peanuts and left a small pile.
He carried the rest off, one at a time, on his own.
Now I greet him each morning with a peanut.
He steps over fresh piles of peanuts to take one by hand.
I think he enjoys the game as much as me.
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