The bread caught his attention to begin. Old yeast unfortunately does not rise. So the thick flat peices of cooked dough I threw onto our porch for the birds. Small cliff swallows, canaries, and finches. In the harsh Alaskan summers few decide to make thier homes here. But I expected them to feed nevertheless. Yet loud clatter and chatter came instead. With his small stature and fluffy tail he inhabited our birdhouse and began to bury away the bread in which he took interest. He stayed for three days and I adored him so very much I had to feed him more. Nuts, raisens, cereal, and such. And so he became my pet squirrel who hysterically resides on my old wooden stairs. His antics entertain the children of the village. The adults don't quite mind his company either. And I, being the lover of all things I am, claimed him as my own. Chipper- his name. And the darling little thing is welcome forever. And forever will be his surely intent with the free feasts he recieves.
