The Tale of Google the Squirrel

This week’s tale is a fellow blogger’s post that I read and thought was so special, I knew it would be perfect for a Tuesday Tale.

The squirrel below was brought to Ron and his wife, Michelle, at only a few days old by some children who found her under a tree.

Ron & Michelle cared for this squirrel themselves and, as you can tell from the photo below, they did a wonderful job!

To read more about Google and how she got her name (maybe you already figured that out 🙂 ), visit Ron’s blog post here.

Kudos to Ron & Michelle for doing such a beautiful thing. I consider myself to be quite an animal lover and advocate, but when it comes to something like that, I would have been scared to death. I probably would have brought her to a Wildlife Rehabilitation Center. I admire their courage and kindness towards a helpless creature.

You can find more tales on the “Tuesday Tales” page of my blog. Let me know if you have a tale to share.

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***Below is a little something extra in today’s post.

Ron spent most of his life in law enforcement. He wrote the wonderful poem below that is used in celebrations, memorials, sites and books.

Motor Officers

It sounds like thunder far away, but the skies are blue and bright…
  And soon they crest the hill nearby, and ride into our sight.
  They shake the ground with powerful sound, and they make some hearts beat fast…
  They look so proud and noble, like Knights come from the past.

Side by side, they always ride, and seem to move as one…
  From early in the morning light, to the setting of the sun.

And children point and wave to them, from cars that pass them by…
  And young ones ask their parents, why the men have mirrors for eyes.
  They ride the roads, and fight for good, and defend small ones like you…
  They ask to ride, and do with pride, and sometimes they are few.

Like men of steel, on silver wheels, they sparkle in the light…
  then with a roar and rumble, they ride out of our sight.

Sometimes when one has fallen, never to ride again…
  You can hear the others calling, like thunder on the wind.
  Side by side, they slowly ride, and their thunder is a mournful sound…
  And the mirrors hide their eyes from us, when teardrops fall to ground.

So if you see one riding, and you look into his face…
  You see your reflection in his eyes, you know that you are safe.
  For motormen are a special breed, they love to ride the wind…
  And when you hear the thunder boom, the fallen ones ride again.

©Ron Walker October 25, 1998