A squirrel, a trap, a prank and the miracle of life

You are about to read a tale of a plan, nuisances that refuse to leave, a capture, an escape, then the acceptance of life itself. No, this is not the story of the highly respected protest group Not Dead Yet. It is about furry animals.

The plan: I had this great idea to catch a squirrel and put it in someone's room. You may think me mad, but this seems to be a most clever joke. The room in which you put the animal, I thought, should be that of a good friend. Why? I have found that if you play jokes on your closer friends they can't get their own friends to beat you up. Why? Because you are these closer friends and what are you going to do, beat yourself up?

So I asked the resident fraternity brother in my hallway to get me a live squirrel, preferably black. He grabbed his walkie-talkie: "Pledge, come in, pledge, come in. This is McMurphy."

A pause.

Then, "Hey there, McMurphyski. You need me to make a run?"

"Yeah. I need a live squirrel. Preferably black."

"A live squirrel . . . OK. How much time do I have?"

"Twenty minutes."

"OK. 10-4."

"10-4."

You must think that I am really lying now, but just come by my room and I will show you the walkie-talkies. If we're lucky, we could maybe order some stuff from the 'Wa.

But while we're at it, what does 10-4 mean anyway? Is it some secret code? The tenth and fourth letters of the alphabet are J and D. Jack Daniels? Works for truckers and for frat guys, too.

Get the best of ‘the Prince’ delivered straight to your inbox. Subscribe now »

Or, aren't the important numbers in life 9 and 5? Maybe 10-4 signifies some sort of universal wish that the standard work day be reduced by two hours. Like: "OK, Bubba, talk to you later. If only we could work as little as the French." Just a guess. But the squirrel arrived within a half hour. Do not think this impossible either. If someone gave you the choice to do homework or go hunting, which would you choose?

So I had a squirrel now sealed up in a cardboard box. I walked over to my friend's girlfriend's room, opened the door, put the box down on the floor then left. This was a Thursday. Little did I know that she left for a fencing meet that very night.

When I learned that she had locked her door, thus leaving a squirrel to terrorize her room for three days, I was terrified. It was the same feeling as going to a math class at Princeton and learning your professor speaks not with an impossibly thick accent, but not at all: He can only communicate in American Sign Language. Worse, even his sign language has an accent because he lost a few fingers to the lawn mower back home. You will have a rough time of it, baby.

I really didn't mean for anything bad to happen. I just wanted to have fun. But I was in trouble. The weekend was spent in agony fearing the vision of destruction this poor girl would see when she returned.

How many times did I curse myself: "#@$&*!" Or, "Pound at money and star!" This is quite a severe oath when literally translated into Belorussian, I am told.

And what a vision it was. The Godiva Valentine's Day chocolates were completely gone/eaten as were the roses. The floor was a mess of trinkets, coins, ripped papers, clothes and squirrel scat. This would be easier to handle if the varmint then appeared and ran out the door, but no one could find it.

If you're still not believing me, know that the rest of the story is pretty much the transcription of a video we have documenting the search. I'm sure I could set up a public viewing somehow for ye of little faith.

In the video, her friends search under the bed, in the dresser, in the closet, everywhere. But after a while they go back to a crate of shoes that was taken out of the closet and put on the floor.

Hearing a noise, they move the crate outside. Somehow, the squirrel is then transported to another box and ceremoniously released. Everyone is happy.

But there is a surprise still to be discovered. The video zooms in on the nest made out of the remains of some fleece pants.

Then there's a noise.

At first it's so high-pitched that it goes unnoticed. As it continues, though, the girl urges the camera man to cease whistling so shrilly. He insists he is not whistling at all as she continues to tell him to stop. Then his hand peels back some of the cloth and reveals for a second a small piece of squirming flesh about the size of your index finger. Mass hysteria ensues with much screaming and blur as the lens points Blair Witch-esquely everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

Babies. Three of them. Heck, that's about how many undergraduates know what the "D" in D-bar stands for. I feel kind of like their father since if I hadn't put the squirrel in the room, maybe the weather would have been too rough for them to live.

Because I'm unfit to rear them, someone who knows about these animal things has the babies under her control. I send child support payments every week.

I guess the lesson is, when you want to do a practical joke, leave out squirrels. The girl whose room I used came down with a bad case of rabies a couple days ago. I'm glad she's alive.

A little miracle like the birth of baby squirrels made her appreciate the simple things in life so that the daily shots and foaming at the mouth don't seem to matter that much.

There's always a little good that comes out of a bad situation. Not only did we witness the gift of life, but she still believes the squirrel came in her window and wasn't placed in her room by a friend.

If I've gone this long, I figure writing about it in the most widely read periodical on campus won't matter, right? Gentle reader keep quiet, it will be our secret.

David H. Turner is a 'Prince' columnist from Alexandria, Va.