To be a squirrel, whether in the brambles or on tree branches matters little, as I'm carefree, as I scurry swiftly across the top of the wooden fence ~ these two klutzy dogs chase after me, I'm quite satisfied with chattering at them, they bark at me with their hopes and self-respect way down, their mistress scolds them in her robe and nightgown, when the acorns of September drop, I have such fun, I gather them with my fellow bushy-tailed ones, we store them in nooks and crannies neath the autumnal sun, then tease the dogs some more ~ oh, to be a squirrel is never a bore.