As I passed the dumpster at the edge of the parking lot on my way to class this morning, there was a god-awful clatter and a tiny gray squirrel came ricocheting over the edge. What was odd wasn't that it was small, in an area where the squirrels are about the size of cats, but that it was carrying a peanut butter jar about the same size as itself in its mouth, rather like an immensely smug and slightly bug-eyed terrier. At first I thought it might be stuck, but it scurried to the base of the nearest maple and began digging madly in the softer loam near the roots. Somewhere in its winter-addled little brain I think it actually believed it could bury the thing. All I could think was good luck, little buddy.