Thoughts from Crow Cottage (My Main Blog.)
crowbelle's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The Mysterious Visitor THE MYSTERIOUS VISITOR This is the tale of the mysterious visitor, as told to me by my better half, Paul, the lobsterman. He came home from work (lobstering) today, sat down on the bed next to my desk where I had been typing for about 9 hours already today, and said that this story he had is one that is so odd, it will probably never happen again in a million years. I needed a break from my work, so I sat back and listened. As usual, he got up early to go out lobstering. He got down to the harbor where his rowboat is tied up around 6 a.m. Nothing unusual there. He loaded his gear aboard "the death trap" (as he calls his little rowboat) and he started in rowing out to his lobster boat that is moored out in the mouth of Marblehead Harbor. It's maybe 300 feet out from the cove where the beach is. As he was pulling up alongside his boat "Bollocks!", he came upon the strangest sight. Down on the side of the boat, right at the waterline (where the water laps the boat) there is an outlet pipe, and it sticks out about 3 inches... I can't remember what it's for, but that doesn't matter. It's there to let something or other out or in... and it had a little flap in its mouth so as not to let the water back up into the boat. Well, when Paul pulled up to his boat, there, on that tiny 3-inch long pipe, was sitting a very wet, very bedraggled looking squirrel! Huh? Paul looked all around him. He was the only one there. No boats were coming or going by. There was no land in the immediate vicinity of the boat. It was out in the water all alone. With that little squirrel, sitting on that pipe - holding on for dear life - trying to save himself, I assume, from a watery grave! Oh, dear! Paul, being the wonderful humanitarian that he is - and loving all animals the way he does, couldn't just ignore this little guy. And of course he didn't want to try catching him, for obvious reasons. So he got everything out of the rowboat, put it aboard the big boat, and pushed the rowboat around right under that pipe where Mr. Squirrel was sitting - hoping, of course, that he would jump into the rowboat. He got the hint, and tried jumping in, but he missed and fell into the water -- oh! my! I'm glad I wasn't there! I'd be a wreck by now! Mr. Squirrel did manage, though, to climb back up onto the rowboat and got in... climbing underneath one of the seats, to catch his breath. Paul then tied the rowboat onto his big boat, and proceeded to motor slowly down harbor to the State Street landing, where there is a big float for boats to tie up to. Can't you just picture this lobster boat pulling a rope tied onto a tiny rowboat, with a little wet squirrel in it? It just struck me so funny... At the landing, he pulled up next to the float, but I guess Mr. Squirrel wasn't familiar with docks, etc. So Paul got out and lifted the entire rowboat up onto the float, and kind of tipped it up a bit for Mr. S. to see that he could stand on a solid surface now. There was a long gang-plank that leads from the float up to the main parking area at The Landing, but Mr. S. thought he would just scurry over to an area under the gangplank and hide out for a bit - maybe dry his bushy tail off a little before appearing back in public again! Paul got his rowback back in the water, motored back up harbor to his mooring, tied the rowboat up for the day, and slowly motored off in Bollocks! around the Neck, past the lighthouse, and over to his fishing grounds on the other side of Marblehead. That's it, really. I wonder how Mr. Squirrel is doing tonight, and I wondered if he realized he had been let off just down the street from where he began his journey. It must have been so scary for him, poor little guy. But the question remains... How the heck did he come to be sitting on that little pipe on Paul's boat in the first place? We have no ideas... Only the squirrel knows that answer, I suppose. But I'm just glad Paul was there to help him back to a safe place, and maybe even home again. I've got the greatest husband in the world... yeah, he's a peach! Cheers, Bex
9:28 pm - 26 August 2004 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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