This morning, Pinecone came to visit.
After watching squirrels for weeks, I finally decided it was time to buy squirrel food. It seemed like the thoughtful thing to do. If Pinecone had become part of our daily puddle community, then surely a special treat would be appreciated.
Apparently, Pinecone had a different opinion.
Without so much as a glance toward the squirrel food, Pinecone made a beeline for the woodpecker suet log.
What followed was less of a meal and more of an acrobatic performance.
First came the careful stretch from the branch. Then the upside-down balancing act. Soon Pinecone was hanging almost completely beneath the branch, reaching farther and farther for just one more bite. Every position looked impossible, yet somehow completely natural.
After all that effort, Pinecone climbed back onto the branch, sat upright for a moment as if taking a well-earned break, then quietly disappeared into the pine tree.
I couldn’t help but laugh.
I had assumed I knew what Pinecone wanted because I was thinking like a person trying to care for a squirrel.
Pinecone was simply thinking like a squirrel.
The puddle has been teaching me this lesson over and over again.
The geese choose their own path to breakfast, whether the water is high or nearly gone. The crows decide how close they’ll come. The purple martins fill the sky while the hummingbirds search for their favorite flowers. And Pinecone? Pinecone has made it perfectly clear that, as far as squirrels are concerned, the woodpecker restaurant has the better menu.
It reminds me that good intentions don’t always predict someone else’s preferences.
Sometimes caring isn’t about deciding what another should want.
Sometimes it’s about paying attention to what brings them joy.
So, the squirrel food will stay. Perhaps another visitor will enjoy it.
And the suet log?
Well… I have a feeling Pinecone has already claimed that reservation.
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