Veteran discovers self in feeding squirrels

You can’t know what pleasure you get in feeding a squirrel, until you open yourself to nature, and of course, feed a squirrel. Daily.
I didn’t understand that while waiting at the Philadelphia VA headquarters several months ago. A great big African American vet sat across from me as we made small talk about what branch we served, our MOS (mine was: 11 Bravo — Infantry), and of course our disability rating.
He was soft spoken and intrigued me when he confided how much joy he gets in feeding “his squirrels.” No, he didn’t raise 'em, nor keep them as pets. He spoke of the everyday, climb-down-the-tree critters that appear in wooded areas and back yards.
The fellow spoke with words of a poet, and I could feel how much he enjoyed providing nourishment to them, his visiting friends. How they'd come running to the North Philadelphia rowhouse yard. Scramble down a tree, then slowly approach having overcome fear of this huge man. He'd serve them before, and they knew he'd care for them again.
I thought of him back at my Conshohocken, PA, home after noticing a squirrel had come mighty close to me twice in the same week, clutching in its mouth a shell containing peanuts I'd place out. Scampered some 75 feet to where I was now rested. I don’t know if it was the same one, the same squirrel. They all look alike to me. (Shoot, never should have written that last phrase, but when it comes to gray squirrels, you never get a chance to see them up close; to see distinguishing features and different facial aspects. When you do have contact, when you look into another’s eyes and share your self with them, no matter how briefly, you can see a difference, you can see the individualistic traits, you can see your brother, see your sister; see all as one.)
The squirrel stopped some eight feet away, the same distance the other squirrel halted. That time, the animal climbed a small rock decorating my upper lawn. Looked straight at me. I said “hello” using that friendly tone of voice, almost a high pitched child’s voice, — you know, the kind of girlish voice dog obedience classes tell you to use to show friendliness.
Once again, I felt ”blessed.”
Too religious for you?
I felt “gratitude” to the Power Above that allowed me to somehow “touch” a creature with such caring. The kind of happiness of "being one" with others around me. Just like that football-player-size vet, this small Greek had learned to start each day in serving God’s creatures and expect nothing in return