The squirrel is a staple of the University of
Michigan’s culture. They make their homes in
almost every corner of Ann Arbor, causing may-
hem among themselves and providing entertain-
ment for the people who walk through the city’s
streets and parks each day. I don’t claim to know
everything about squirrels, but in applying the
findings from research on the psychology of these
(in)famous rodents, I can at least sound like I
know a thing or two about squirrels and demys-
tify the lives of our honorary campus mascot.
***
October had always been Kaia’s favorite
month. The fallen leaves crunching underfoot
paired with the chill breeze created the ideal
setting for the quintessential college experi-
ence. The outdoors were a loving complement
to the mugs of hot coffee, piles of soft sweaters
and horror movies that were waiting for her
inside her apartment.
Kaia stepped off of South University Avenue
and made her way toward her art history class
at Angell Hall, stepping through the arch and
toward the Diag as hundreds of other students
scurried to arrive at their prospective destina-
tions. It was like a pattern of nature, this migra-
tion of students leaving from or heading toward
a new location 10 minutes before the hour. A
pack of swans headed north, limited only by a
semesterly class schedule.
Passing by the Shapiro Library, Kaia could
see at least six squirrels in her line of vision,
though there were likely many more hiding
behind trees and under benches within the
same area. Fox squirrels, gray squirrels and a
couple black squirrels were all visible among
the detritus and dwindling grass on the ground.
Their little paws clacked on the pavement and
carried them in seemingly random directions
as they climbed trees and ran across the parade
of undergraduates monopolizing the sidewalks.
Kaia always thought that the Ann Arbor
squirrels were cute, if a bit brainless. Last fall,
her roommate had even kicked an unlucky,
frantic one of these creatures while running in
Nichols Arboretum as it darted in front of her
on the path.
They were cute, but that did not mean Kaia
found them completely endearing, or respect-
able. Squirrels could be ruthless, mean, erratic
— and their scavenging habits involving cam-
pus trash bins diminished any majestic quality
they may have otherwise carried.
In essence: Squirrels were a part of Kaia’s
life, sometimes adding dynamic, comedic value
or wholesome interactions. But overall, they
were just — there. For her and the rest of the
some 30,000 students who trek across campus
each day. A neutral component of life in Ann
Arbor.
As she passed the Block ‘M’ on the Diag, Kaia
saw one of these well-known, overweight squir-
rels of Central Campus nosing its way through
a pile of plastic cups and takeout bags on top
of one of the trash cans that hug the Diag’s
cement benches. Not seeing what it wanted
after searching for several seconds, the squirrel
jumped down and started sniffing the ground
by a tree. Kaia didn’t know what it was think-
ing, but it seemed determined, in a thoughtless
kind of way.
She exhaled a breath out of her nose in a sem-
blance of a laugh and continued walking toward
the doors of Mason Hall. As she stepped in the
building, she thought: Those dumb squirrels.
***
The stockpile was 46.38 feet away at a 29
degree angle when facing north. Dig approxi-
mately four inches down, and there will be two
walnuts … confirmed! Cache numbers 36 through
39 still need to be checked today. Caches 3, 13 and
20 have been raided by neighboring enemies. Will
proceed with operations to claim further terri-
tory and obtain additional resources. Next step:
Infiltrate human waste receptacles and analyze
inventory.
Bo had been working this territory since she
was a kit, her entire three years of life spent in
the same two-mile radius, doing what she could
to obtain the resources she needed to live and to
ensure she was covered for the long-term. She
had a network of treasure troves, storing the
most valuable and durable feed she could find at
precise locations around the area. Most of these
were carefully embedded within root systems
surrounding the concrete and brick mass that
was ever populated with people. They were
always sidestepping the innermost portion of
this brick mass, these people, as if something
terribly bad would happen if they stepped
directly upon it.
A rectangular clearing surrounded by build-
ings on each side, Bo made her home in a central
location of the humans’ habitat, where there
was always the possibility of food and plenty of
space to spread her resources.
She continued her investigation into the
state of her resources. Dig, check, hide was
the rhythm of her work. Her two small paws
worked in tandem to reveal each store while
her mind was 15 steps ahead, thinking of pos-
sible threats to her hard-earned belongings
and cataloging those she had already deemed
secure.
Bo was always prepared, considering each
negative outcome that could arise in the future.
Hers was a popular territory, and many other
squirrels fought for placement within this rich
hunting ground. It could be ruthless, but she
was not afraid of concocting calculated plans to
secure her network and subsistence.
Predators were never too much of a worry
due to the sheer volume of people interacting
within Bo’s living space. This was one thing
they were useful for. Yet, the behaviors of these
confounding humans that invaded her home
each day — tying pieces of nylon tarp to the
trees within which she made her nests, cover-
ing her scavenging grounds with squares of
linen and taunting her with inedible food —
introduced further obstacles to days already
filled with carefully outlined agendas.
Hunting, storing, measuring, indexing and
defending were integral components of the
machine that was her existence.
An essential step of this ritual was sifting
through the waste receptacles placed on near-
ly-even intervals at the corners of the concrete
rectangle, with additional containers dotting
the periphery of the area. The food from these
bins was invaluable in late autumn, as the trees
no longer grew the nuts she relied upon. Soon,
Bo would be thrown into the lethal grip of win-
ter with few scavenging resources outside of
the occasional generosity of a human offering
an almond.
2 — The Statement // Wednesday, October 5, 2022
BY SARAH STOLAR, STATEMENT CORRESPONDENT
Day in the life of two
campus squirrels
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