A reader calls to say that he is concerned that the squirrels in Central Park could, because of their inability, or reluctance, to travel outside of the confines of the park, become in-bred in some way and perhaps begin to show some sign of madness soon. I don't know what brought that thought to him but I have seen some odd behavior on the part of Central Park squirrels, but I had thought it might be the frenzied preparations for winter making them hurry so from tree to ground and then back to tree.
They are a wide variety of colors. Unlike the red squirrels of Texas and Oklahoma, Manhattan squirrels are gray, and there are a great deal of shades of gray. I've seen many of the usual gray flannel suit squirrels and a few of the dark grays, some having a small spot or stripe of black on their backs. Up in Ft. Tryon there are coal black squirrels, ebony ghosts leaping through the branches. There are lighter grays which on leafless winter mornings look almost white against the tree bark and several odd brownish gray cousins some of whom made a huge nest in the Forever Wild section of Central Park last Spring. I surprised them on a Sunday morning while cutting through the territory looking for a good shot of the Gates.
Apparently there is nothing to worry about. I asked a couple of people who should know and they are of the opinion that squirrels, like a variety of creatures including wild turkeys, move about the island as if the ten million human inhabitants were a slight inconvenient at times distraction and nothing more. Squirrels are able to find fresh girlfriends with the approximate success rate as sailors on leave.
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Most of the people I have lunch with are carrying guns. Police detectives like the same diner I do. The men are bulldoggish and love to jibe eachother. One fellow's shirt was the subject of much serious discussion and, despite the salient remarks being made about a truly awful article of clothing, he would not back down an inch, insisting that, besides the fact that his fashion savvy wife had picked out said shirt for him, he himself had seen a similar item in the most recent GQ and that they should all Fhug themselves mightily. Pass the salt.
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A runner passed me on the left tonight and suddenly my nose was filled with an awful smell. It was a combination of dried sweat and something vaguely outhouseish, kind of a dung and BO special. I realized after the runner was well ahead that it wasn't him and for a second I had the horrible thought that it might be me, but then I caught sight of the horse carriages off to our left up on 59th Street. The damp night air was dragging the horsey-manure and mare/sweat stink over the wall and down through the trees and into our noses. We ran a little faster.
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