Patriotic Wildlife

For the past two weeks my mother has been complaining about her flags, not the flower, the American flag. Her complaint is that someone either steals the flags or vandalizes them. Unfortunately, Mom has a tendency to say this about a lot of “missing” things. After she gets us all riled up, she reveals important information that she "forgot" to tell us or that she was simply “mistaken.” So when she first brought up the flag stuff I didn’t give it a second thought. But like a terrier with a bone she would not let it go. Every phone conversation every day either started with or ended with “the flag…the flag… the flag.”

After the umpteenth time, and for my own sanity, I gave it some thought. My parent’s flag is quite large and attached to a flagpole topped with a gold winged eagle. They hang it from a black wrought iron “holder” above the garage door. To get it up there, Pop gets out his extension ladder, climbs atop, and mom hands him “Old Glory.” My parents are very patriotic and respectful of the flag. They do not let it get wet or touch the ground and never leave it out over night. Who would or could steal or damage that flag?

Mom and Pop have lived in the same house in the same neighborhood for over 40 years; it is a small town and everybody knows them. Nevertheless, the neighborhood is changing and within the last few years several homes have succumbed to burglary, including their next-door neighbors. I constantly worry about them living alone in that big house. It’s only a matter of time before their luck runs out. My heart began to race. Was this it, had the time come? Was someone actually “testing the waters,” sizing up their home to rob?

Whoa Lenore, slow down and regroup. First: the flag is only out during the day. My parents are retired and if the flag is out somebody is home. Surely, one of them or a neighbor would see or hear something. Second: the vandals would have to be 15 feet tall or have their own extension ladder. Both are unlikely, but for arguments sake let’s say that they do get the flag, and then what? Do they run unnoticed down the street in broad day light with a billowing 6’ American flag attached to a 10’ pole? No, I don’t think so. There must be more to this story.

I so did not want to get into this with Mom. I knew that there was more to this story or that she was probably “mistaken,” but I had to be sure. I posed my questions with answers to her. “No… no…Dear, not Old Glory! The smaller veterans flags that your Uncle gave to us!” Whaaat? See what I mean, she never mentioned these! “You know, like the flags you see in the cemeteries!” Yeah I knew the type: 12” cloth flags on 18” wood sticks, big difference from “Old Glory.” She continued, “I put one in the barrel on the porch and stuck a couple in the flowerbed...they looked so lovely! But then a few days later I noticed that they were knocked over and that the flags were ripped and torn!”

The barrel on the porch sits right next to the front door. Almost immediately, I was overwhelmed by two unwelcomed thoughts: the small flags remained out at night, and the flag by the front door was gone but the stick remained. Mom was still talking.

“So I just replaced them because nobody is going to stop me from displaying our flag!” Oh, Jeez Louise Please. “Imagine my surprise when the new flagsticks were broken! But this time the flags were gone, no flags just the sticks!” She was getting angry. “They vandalized eight American flags! Senseless nonsense...such hooligans!” Still talking she stood up and walked to the window. “I just left the sticks in the ground; they’re still out there, look for yourself.”

I went outside to look for myself. Sure enough, naked splintered flagsticks were sticking up out of the ground. The missing flags were ripped off the sticks, the metal staples still embedded in the wood. Including the stick by the front door. This was not good.

The sound of children’s voices caught my attention. It was the new neighbors from across the street. Our house is on the corner with a large slice of land. Two big trees canopy the front lawn but the side yard is open. When we were kids it was the neighborhood playground. Apparently, some things never change. The two children were playing Frisbee in the side yard. My parents are good with that; they would rather see the children play in the yard than out in the street. However, the front yard is off limits because of the many flowers and the trees. The kids were getting to close for comfort. Before I could get out a word of warning, the boy hurled the neon green Frisbee up into the tree. I knew the drill; I fetched the extension ladder and Pop.

The Frisbee had gone deep into the tree. Pop extended the ladder. The cacophony of noise from the birds, baby birds, and squirrels was deafening. Slowly, I climbed up the ladder into the canopy. As my eyes adjusted to the shade, I began to see the nests. Nests of all shapes and sizes, some in the process of construction others occupied by birds or squirrels. The squirrel nests were huge and very high up. The tree was like a giant condo for wildlife! The squatters, already irate from the intruding disk, became more agitated with my presence. The squirrels were whizzing around inside the canopy creating a shower of leaves and twigs. I stopped a moment to look around. The baby birds were the first to go silent followed by the parent birds, but the squirrels remained furious and freaking out! Their nonstop screeching, or whatever you call that sound they make, got louder and nippier. I stopped again to look for the Frisbee. I could see it. It was up by a squirrel nest, great. I moved up the ladder and reached for the disk keeping an eye out for kamikaze squirrels. As I grabbed the disk, I got a closer look at the nest. I was so surprised I almost fell out of the tree!

Entwined into the squirrel nest were Mom's flags, American flags. I looked more closely at the other squirrel nests and saw the same thing, faded stars and stripes coiled around the nests. Uneven patches of the material lined the inside. Frayed pieces of flag stuck out between the coiled twigs and branches. Loose threads from the flags were not wasted either. A closer look at some bird nests and I could see the threads neatly woven into the structures!

Mystery solved, but Pop could never know about this! He would make hats out of those squirrels. I could just see the little Frisbee kids wearing grey furry hats with bushy tails hanging down the back. No way, Pop could not find out about this.

First: I had to make sure that the kids did not do this again. If I were not around Pop would get in that tree. I gave the Frisbee back to the kids with a stern warning. They looked hurt and I felt bad about it but this was a life and death situation. The kids would have to suck it up and get over it. Next: I had to tell my Mother so that she would stop with “the flag…the flag…the flag.” I spoke with her that evening. She listened wide-eyed, with a look of amazement on her face. I explained why she should not tell Pop and not to use the small flags. She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes. “What’s the matter?” I asked. She suspiciously replied, “Did you see my garden gloves up there? I’ll just bet those hooligan squirrels took them! They’re yellow with flowers on them and they weren’t cheap either...”

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