Squirrel Sugar Daddy

It's a hard life to love.

It's hard to tell one gray squirrel from the next.  I know that at least one of them recognizes me: maybe more than one.  It must be so hard for her to approach me.  One of those times, I looked at her and realized that her poor little heart seemed to be beating out of her chest.  She must have been going against her instincts.  Her instincts tell her to fear the giants.  But she knows a gentle giant: me.  I told her how brave she was.
A squirrel approached me and was transfixed by my nut-throwing hand.  Her eyes followed it everywhere.  I grabbed a handful and tossed it.  She advanced as I was in the act of throwing.  As a result, she was showered with (pure) walnuts.  As a few of them struck her back lightly, she tensed up a bit, perhaps she even let out a little pee-pee or poo-poo, but she soon recovered and feasted.  I feed them almost daily.  I admire them.  I've even seen them foraging in the pouring rain.  They are tough survivors.  I'm quite conflicted about feeding them though.  I've seen them act aggressively toward each other: seemingly over the nuts that I left out for them.  They're even cute when it comes to aggression though.  They tend to advance and pounce toward their prey, who usually gets out of the way just in the nick of time (they seem to be hyper-aware).  For some reason, this reminds me of chess (knight takes pawn).  I tell myself that they'll be aggressive toward each other anyway.  One day I was walking past a restaurant, and I heard a noise that got my attention.  I looked to my right and saw two squirrels leap at each other and collide in midair, which was accompanied by a horrible battle cry.  This happened in a dumpster area, so I suppose they were fighting over food garbage.  I never forget that they are wild, and they live by a different set of rules than we do: none.