She Makes Me Proud

My daughter, Elizabeth, had an assignment in school to write memoirs. She was to select events and occasions in her life which have shaped her into the person she is today, and write about them. And I, dear old Mom, had the pleasure of proof-reading.
Oh, my. I'll admit to being biased. I mean, she is my daughter. But I am so impressed with Elizabeth's writing skills! Seriously. As in, I bet her teacher will read some of her writing to the class.
I always wanted to write something "good enough" for my teacher to read in class.
It never happened.

Anyway, I thought this particular piece was just charming and asked Elizabeth if I could share it with you. Next week I want to post another one which will pull a little harder at your heart. But for today, I present you with this:

Squirrels
Outside, the breeze rustled the lush grass and green leaves of the mighty walnut tree. Sweet aromas floated to me on the air from the flower garden out back. Pleasant chitter-chatter of birds soothed me. The sun was shining. Summer was fully here.
I lugged my bike out from the overflowing garage and started riding around. There wasn't really anywhere to go, but it was a beautiful day out, not to be wasted.
Turning down a street, a sound caught my attention. Under the shade of a giant oak tree, two squirrels sat there, eating acorns and squeaking to each other. It was as if they were conversing over lunch.
I restrained myself from laughing aloud, in fear of scaring them off. After a while of watching them gleefully, I started to ride away again. Something caught my eye, though.
A scrawny squirrel with matted fur and only half a tail was crouched across the street. At the sight, or smell of him (I don't know which) the other squirrels jumped into an offensive, I-am-the-tough-one-here kind of look.
The pitiful little squirrel backed away, and I could almost hear his tummy growl. "Oh, shoo! Shoo all you squirrels," I yelled, waving my hands to scare them off. When all the fluffy-tailed rodents were out of under the tree, I scooped up some acorns and crossed the street, leaving my bike to wobble and crash.
"Come on little squirrel, I won't hurt you," I crooned. I tossed one acorn a few feet from where I was. "I'll name you Joe, okay?" Joe crept up to the food, sniffed it, and scampered backwards a little, with the nut in his mouth. His furry little paws shoved the food in his cheek, and then he cocked his head for more. I tossed another. And another. Soon Joe was off burying the acorns his full little belly couldn't hold.
A great fullness swept over me then. A sense of purpose and helpfulness filled me up. Sure, the weather made me cheerful, but this was amazing. I felt carefree and powerful, like I could do anything in the world.
Just then I realized something: I want to help as much as I can if it makes me feel this way.
And I absolutely and totally, under all conditions, love squirrels.

Isn't she sweet?
She makes me proud!