The Tale of Nutkin the Squirrel

Dear Mr. Trout:

Can you please tell us about the rodent that ended up in the county court a few years ago? Is he still around?

Sincerely,

Aiden Jayden McCool

Girardville, PA.

Dear Mr. McCool:

I believe you are referring to Nutkin the Squirrel, who made all the headlines a few years ago. Some of you may be unfamiliar with him, and/or have short attention spans. Well, here is the lowdown.

Apparently, when the Patriot Act became law in 2000, U.S. Attorney General John Ashcroft came down hard on Nutkin, the gray squirrel, who was living in Orwigsburg. It seems that the Patriot Act, which permits detention and deportation, had been broadly construed to include, not only humans, but also Sciurus carolinensis, better known as the eastern gray squirrel. Weeks earlier, I lectured against the Patriot Act at The Leiderkrantz Hall on Norwegian Street in Pottsville; I predicted that it could be used as a dragnet to round up the animal members of our beloved community that we call Schuylkill County.

No one listened to me.

I tried to inform my audience that Nutkin had been living in the Orwigsburg and had been totally acculturated to Schuylkill County. He no longer thought of himself as a Carolina squirrel. He had become a Skook; he had become one of us. He now preferred pierogies and funnel cake over acorns. While this made the law officials more determined, the Liederkrantz crowd was more interested in drinking Yuengling and singing old German songs.
Yes, several Decembers ago the Immigration officers arrived at The Nutty Pear Restaurant on Adamsdale Road. With that knock on the door, the Carolina squirrel dropped his hot Irish nut mixed drink and went out the back door. The burly Chief of Immigration turned to his fellow officers and yelled:

“Listen up, ladies and gentlemen. Our fugitive has been on the run for 90 minutes. Average foot speed over unever ground barring injuries is four miles per hour; that gives us a radius of six miles. What I want out of each and every one of you is a hard target search of every gas station, residence, warehouse, farmhouse, henhouse, outhouse and doghouse in that area. Checkpoints go up at fifteen miles. Your fugitive's name is Nutkin J. Squirrel. Go get him!”

Squirrels are most active in late winter when the mating season begins. In fact Nutkin was at the Nutty Pear in hopes of getting lucky that night. The spry rodent eluded the feds, but was spotted at Renninger’s Market the next afternoon trying to pass a bad check at a natural foods stand. He quickly hijacked the STS Cabella’s bus and headed north on Route 61 at a dangerously high rate of speed, but as there were no passengers aboard, no one was hurt. Abandoning the bus in Pottsville at the site of the planned intermodal bus station, Nutkin then blended into the stream of the one or two passer-bys walking on Centre Street. Within an hour, the Immigration officers then stormed the abandoned Atkins Building under the assumption that the place would be a natural hideout for the furry fugitive.

They were wrong.

Nutkin had entered the packed Majestic Theater and watched the Clark Gable film matinee, Manhattan Melodrama. Squirrels primarily rest in the afternoons, so the renovated theatre was the perfect mid-afternoon location for him as well as a few courthouse employees.

Despite the fact that the sweat glands of a tree squirrel are located on their feet, the city police's bloodhounds could not pick out his scent from others wandering about on Centre Street. Once again, Nutkin had did the impossible, he eluded the massive police hunt.

Days went by. It was rumored that the fugitive had landed a Section 8 apartment under an alias and assumed various identities. He would sometimes impersonate a pediatrician, an attorney, a pilot at Joe Zerbe International Airport, or a professor at Penn State Schuylkill, where he taught one full semester of Philosophy. Students there described him as “nutty” or “squirrelly.” One freshman gave the following account, “he had a slender body, a gray belly with a thick bushy tail, but he was a damn good professor. He taught me the meaning of life. Aren't we are all squirrels trying to get a nut?”
Nutkin apparently lived a charmed life in the county seat for many months bouncing from one occupation to another. The fascinating rogue rodent loved the challenge of taunting local law enforcement officers.
The thrill of escape boosted his furry ego. He had an uncanny ability to, first bait, and then elude the law enforcement authorities at the last minute during their game of "cat and squirrel." His notoriety became widespread. He was featured on the Fox Show “America’s Most Wanted: The Hunt For Nutkin” and “When Good Squirrels Go Bad.”

But he finally got caught. Skateboarding illegally on Center Street. The case ended up in court and the county judge threw the book at him. He was sentenced to be hanged in the prison yard and then led away by the Deputies in leg irons. The Food Channel got exclusive rights to cover the event for its upcoming Pennsylvania Dutch Special, “Preparing Squirrel Sauerkraut Casserole.” However his appeal to a higher court paid off and he scampered away on a technicality -the skateboard had not been properly identified.
Where is Nutkin today? It is believed that the rodent is still at large in the county, taunting us, assuming some new identity. He now ranks among the most notorious rodents in Schuylkill County history. Look around. He could next to you at this very moment.

Hold on to your..... acorns.