Dan Tran says he might just reproduce. Who knows how the first squirrels got onto campus? Maybe they were planted by some environmentalist to make the campus seem park-like. Or perhaps a group of squirrels were hibernating in the trees in the middle of campus while the construction workers built an entire city around them. And they woke up one day and discovered that the world had turned into concrete and glass, all except for their desolate patch of street and grass. And they are reproducing, in sixes like rodents usually do. Instinctively, like the pests that they are. Like the rabbit and the rat, they breed exponentially, giving out life like free Nescfafe iced coffees in the summertime. They're fed by the animal loving students who think they're helping and the food truck owners who dump their damaged goods. "Oh, let's feed the dirty tick and disease carrying pigeons and squirrels so they can crap all over the place and spread their diseases and microscopic germs and then have offspring that will crap some more and then let's aim for one as we ride in our cars out of town while the squirrels stay stuck here forever." I do not understand why they constantly feed the animals. Sometimes when I see people feeding the begging birds and rodents while they eat outside, I come over and pick up and devour those bits of rice and bread, in the hopes of somehow breaking this relentless chain of insanity. The squirrels are quick, but I am quicker and braver than all of them everywhere. I must admit that sometimes even I feed the squirrels, but I do it for a higher purpose. I force them to eat bits of food placed on the top of my shoe in order to separate the brave ones from the chicken-hearted. For in the heart of the brave lies hope. Only the truly brave ones will dare to venture through the city and into freedom, and lead bands of other squirrels to do the same, like in Braveheart when Mel Gibson says, "You can take our lives, but you can never take our freedom." In economics class, we learned that as population increases, demand increases, and supply intersects the demand curve to give the higher market price. But in squirrel land, prices don't increase as a result of increased population. Instead, squirrels starve and die. The pigeons fly away, the students graduate, but the squirrels always die. Which is why I have begun my campaign of assisted suicides. Those who wish it, and only those who wish it, can follow me in what has become known in squirrel circles as the Death March (also known as the March of Death). Every Sunday afternoon from three to six p.m., I ride down Locust Walk on my bike and look into the eyes of every squirrel and communicate with them telepathically. Those who are tired of life, those who are ready for the big oak tree in the sky that lies beyond us all, follow me. I lead them -- usually about 10-12 of them -- to the murky river near the highway just beyond DRL. And once there, they fling themselves head-first into their final exit. Some hesitate, and that is when I assist them. The sound of "splash, splash...splash, splash, splash" reminds me of my trip to Water Country-Park two summers ago. Then I return home, eating bits of rice on the way. The squirrels could leave, and I imagine some do, but would you if you were a squirrel? Would you even try to calculate when to cross the street? Would you, as a squirrel, be able to calculate all the different variables necessary to cross the street? To watch the streetlight color, while avoiding people's feet and still be aware of the head-severing wheel of a bicycle? To take into account right-hand turns of cars, frat house dogs, and calculate if you have time to cross 20 yards of concrete while the distance between you and the oncoming car is decreasing at an increasing rate? I wouldn't. Even as a human I wouldn't. Sometimes when I'm in a rush to get to class, I run into cars and dent them. And when I'm scared or feel that I'm in danger, I head for the nearest tree and try to climb it. I haven't left town since I got here for the summer, and I'm not sure if I can. I think my parents are coming to pick me up at the end of August. Maybe I should just reproduce. Dan Tran is a Wharton sophomore from Brockton, MA.
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