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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