Lexi's Tale by Johanna Hurwitz Page A

don’t stick around to help raise their children. And babies become independent at a very young age. We may play together and chase one another, but a squirrel looks after himself.” I gave myself a good scratch as I thought aboutit some more. “No,” I added, “squirrels never go out on a limb for anyone else.”
    â€œYou don’t know how lucky you are,” said PeeWee sadly. “I wish there were at least one other guinea pig in the park.”
    Poor PeeWee. I hadn’t given the matter much thought before, but now I realized that it must be lonely to be the only representative of your species in all the 843 acres that make up Central Park. Even the animals over in the zoo are paired together. I tried to distract him.
    â€œCheer up,” I said. “If you were back inside that old cage you used to live in, you wouldn’t have another guinea pig or even a squirrel like me to keep you company.”
    â€œYou’re right,” PeeWee quickly agreed. “What would I have done without you?”
    I didn’t answer. The truth is, without me, henever would have survived in the park from day one. PeeWee would have starved or been caught by a dog or come to some other dreadful fate. He arrived in the park with no survival skills at all. He didn’t know how to climb a tree. He’d never dug for food or hidden from danger before. He still can’t climb trees, but at least he’s learned the other things that he needs to live in the outside world. And PeeWee did come to the park with one very special talent: He knows how to read. That’s right, read! He’s the only animal I’ve ever heard of who can do that. And so many times, when other squirrels are sleeping in their nests or chewing on a pawful of seeds, I sit in his little hole and listen to the stories that he reads aloud from the books and papers that have been left in the park by careless humans.

    â€œWe’re living in paradise,” I told PeeWee. “Don’t forget it.”
    â€œYou’re right,” he agreed with me again. “This park has just about everything, even if it doesn’t have other guinea pigs. The food here is a hundred times better than my old cage food. I can’t believe that I was once satisfied eating little dry pellets.”
    â€œSpeaking of food,” I said, “I haven’t eaten my morning meal yet. Have you?”
    â€œNo,” PeeWee said.
    â€œThen let’s not waste our time talking when we can be chewing,” I told him. “Remember what my mother always said:
Early to rise, early to dig, makes a squirrel happy, healthy, and big
.”
    â€œGuinea pigs too,” said PeeWee, pulling a perfect apple out of a pile of leaves where some foolish human must have thrown it. There were no apple trees nearby, and besides, it was far too early in the seasons for the park’s apple trees to be growing fruit.
    â€œCome and have a bite or two,” PeeWee called to me.
    What a friend! PeeWee is always quick to share whatever he’s eating. Squirrels never share. All squirrels seem to fear that the nut they’re eating is the last they’ll ever see. Our only sharing is by chance. We all bury extranuts and seeds, and when we relocate them, we rarely know if they are actually the ones that we hid or if they were buried by a relative instead. It seems to balance out, however. There’s always something good to eat hidden beneath the soil.
    I heard the rustle of footsteps on the ground nearby and looked up from the apple PeeWee and I were sharing. Coming toward us was the bearded man I’d noticed earlier. “Hide,” I whispered to PeeWee. “There’s someone coming. You mustn’t be seen.”
    At once PeeWee scooted under a nearby bush. It wouldn’t do for a human to see a guinea pig here in the park. But no one seems to notice us squirrels. There is a definite advantage to being part of such a