Jerry hopped across the short stretch of Farmer Ben's field into the woods. He scrambled through the dry brush and scurried up a sturdy old sycamore tree which was his home. About twenty feet from the ground, knitted into the smooth mottled white trunk, was a large knotty hole, the front entrance to Jerry's residence.
He crawled backwards down a short narrow passage, the entryway to his cozy nook, into a larger opening where his family eagerly waited. "Daddy! Daddy!" squeaked Pickles, the littlest kit, bouncing up and down, but staying close by his mother, Carrie. Robbie and Dana, Pickles' older brother and sister, hugged their father warmly. Jerry scratched his children behind the ears affectionately. He dropped his packages on the table, an oval cross-section of a thick branch he had found in the Millers' woodpile.
Carrie greeted Jerry with a quick nuzzle as Pickles leapt onto his father, his arms clinging around Jerry's neck. "Happy Squirrel Day, Daddy!" he cried. "Happy Squirrel Day!" Robbie and Dana joined in. "Happy Squirrel Day to you too, kits!" chortled Jerry. He flopped down, fairly exhausted, onto his comfy chair made of twigs, leaves, and cotton from Mr. Miller's cotton plants. "Ahhhh," he sighed, as his kits clustered around him.
Carrie was already busy unpacking the groceries, humming happily. "What a glorious feast for a glorious day!" she exclaimed. Jerry beamed with pride and contentment, also a bit of relief. "I had a bit of a run-in with Lila on the way back," he admitted. "Oh no!" yelped the family in unison. "What happened?" demanded Dana. Jerry, being a bit of a story teller, relished the opportunity he had earned by his harrowing experience...
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