Fun With This Marten

I just saw my nasty little friend the marten making his rounds, evening, his coat a deeper brown-red than the one on his cousin, the cousin who took out the squirrel that had made a home inside the north wall of my studio. This was two years ago.

I'd had fun with this marten, whom I'll call Spit. I'd read up on him. I'd claimed to be him in a poem. By the time he ran across my window sill in front of me I'd come to count on his quicks. That's the thought I was entertaining when, about 15 seconds later, I heard the scuffle inside the wall.

It didn't last long. Spit enjoyed his dinner, and the wall was left without a squirrel. Banff Centre staff came out and covered the hole.

Anyway, the family's still around, with lots of newly cut-down spruce to hop through, that tail curve.

The title Surpreme Ravine Commander, however, goes to the giant crow.