My first encounter with a squirrel was not a happy one. I was about five years old, and we had just arrived for my first holiday in Bournemouth, staying with my elderly great aunt in her Victorian home. I still remember entering the old house through a small conservatory that housed many glass cases in which were collections of stuffed birds and animals. I clearly remember several small birds trapped in a frozen, lifeless state behind glass walls; a beautiful fox with its mouth open ready to devour whatever the taxidermist had imagined when preparing the poor creature for display. To me, this later became the stuff of nightmares.
© Barrie Mahoney 2023
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