The Squirrel Next Door

 

A (Sort of) True Story

 

By Becky Magnolia

 

 

Well, hello there, new friend!  My name is Becky Magnolia. I’m a writer, and I’m here to introduce you to my friend Benny. 

 

She’s a squirrel.

 

For most of her life, Benny did the usual squirrel things. You know, climb trees, eat nuts, and play with her friends. But that all changed one day when she wandered to the back garden of this little café I go to called Debra Jean’s.

 

Benny was making her morning rounds, searching for acorns, when she noticed a family of human-people at a big round table. The smallest of them wore pigtails and a purple t-shirt and was eating a chocolate chip muffin. As she ate, a small crumb fell to the ground.

 

Benny spotted it. Cautiously, she sniffed and took a bite.

 

“Wow! I mean, wow!” she thought. It was the most fantabulous thing she had ever eaten. 

 

“Look, Mama, the squirrel likes my muffin,” said the girl. And before Benny knew it, the girl dropped an even bigger chunk right at her feet. Benny ate it right up!

 

The next day, Benny crawled down from her tree to do her morning rounds when she noticed a woman and a man sipping drinks and nibbling on pastries. 

 

Remembering yesterday's muffin, Benny approached the woman.

 

“Aww, look at that cute little guy,” the lady said. Then, to Benny's delight, she tossed her a piece of her cinnamon roll.

 

“Oh, Ron, look at that squirrel," said an older lady. She, too, tossed her some food.

 

Pretty soon, the whole café was watching her. Benny flicked her tail and twitched her nose, and everyone cheered. 

 

Every day, every week, every month after that, Benny visited the café and was fed by the people. She loved the muffins, and the people loved her. 

 

But, my friends, our story isn't over yet. You see, with all these muffins and praise, Benny had forgotten about being a squirrel. 

 

All she could think about was muffins. More and more muffins. 

 

One early morning, Benny approached me as I was writing this book. Benny flicked her tail, but I kept on writing. She twitched her nose, but I kept on writing. Frustrated, she jumped on my chair.

 

“No, no, Benny,” I said, putting up my hand. “No muffins for you today.”

 

Well, as you can guess, Benny was mad. Very mad. She left me and went to a table of young women in the middle of a Bible study. She flicked her tail and twitched her nose, but they too ignored her.

 

“How dare they,” Benny thought. “They have a perfectly good banana nut muffin on that table, and they won't share.”

 

And so, thinking only of that muffin, she jumped onto the center of the table, grabbed it, and ran.

 

Books went flying. Women went screaming.

 

“Thief!” one of the girls yelled. 

 

Carrying the whole muffin–which was almost as big as Benny–she ran to her tree.

 

That evening, Benny ate until her belly was full, but it didn't settle well. She woke up in the morning with a tummy ache.

 

From her palm tree, she looked down and saw me drinking an iced coffee in the shade. Enjoying my quiet morning, I walked over to a planter in the garden. I bent down, touched a flower, sniffed it, and smiled. No muffins. No hoopla. I was simply in the moment, enjoying the flowers. Benny was inspired.

​

So the next morning, as the crowds gathered, rather than beg, Benny decided to visit the flowers like I did, sniffing, rubbing… and then rolling in their soft little petals. She was happier than she had ever been.

​

“Good morning, Benny,” I said. “I have something for you.” And from my bag I brought a giant flower.

​

“It's a sunflower,” I said, bringing it close to her. “And look! It's filled with seeds.”  

Indeed, it was. Hundreds of seeds!

​

She carefully took one in her little paws, cracked it open, and ate it. She liked it so much that she politely took another.

​

From that day forward, Benny no longer stole food, nor did she need to beg for it. Instead, the café patrons brought her seeds and nuts…

​

...and the occasional flower.

 

© Becky Magnolia Pourchot, July 2025 

Magnolia Moonrise Publications