A few weeks ago, a beady-eyed, bushy-tailed creature helped open my eyes to the level of apathy surrounding me in this community. My friend and I were walking out of the CIW dining hall after a long Friday lunch, preparing to head to our respective 2:20 p.m. classes. But, as we were walking down the parking lot toward Lecture Hall, we spotted a squirrel that appeared to be injured.

The first thing that seemed unusual was that the animal was not scampering away the minute we walked up to it. When we gave the squirrel, who I have decided to name Steve, a closer look, we saw that he was visibly injured (his leg was red and swollen) and breathing heavily. The only movement he demonstrated was the occasional limp and wobble over to an abandoned chicken bone.

Now at this point it was 2:15 p.m.; my friend and I were standing on either side of our new friend, taking turns looking at one another, looking down at the squirrel and once more looking up at each other, hoping that the other person would find a solution. Perhaps if we lacked petty things such as A) a soul, B) a conscience or C) pity, we could have abandoned Steve and skipped on our merry way to class. But being that we did not have the luxury of lacking items A through C, we were left with no choice but to help.

This is the part where our good intentions got shat on like we were caught without umbrellas in a shower of humanity’s feces. We pulled out our cell phones and began to call the animal humane center, who redirected us to the animal rehabilitation center, who did not answer their phones, which then led us to call the biology department in the hope that they could do something about poor Steve. Wrong. Too much time was devoted toward a game of redirection and apathy.

Eventually, nearing 3 p.m., we received our final brush off. We felt like we had finally gotten someone to drive over and help us. Well … that’s not completely true. Someone did show up, but the amount of help that she brought along was seriously questionable. A UPD officer pulled up to the parking lot and stepped out of her car to talk to us. Her tone made us feel like we had done something deplorable and she was trying to politely curb her impatience. Basically, the only response she could provide us with was, “Listen, if ya want to cover the veterinary costs then ya can take the squirrel to the animal hospital and take care of it. But I can’t have that kind of liability, ya understand?”

Stupefied, I imagined this response in my head: “Well, yes, I understand everything perfectly. Silly me for even trying to get outside help! I’ll just hop into the car that I brought along with me as a freshman, strap this potentially rabies-laden critter into the passenger seat and together we will speed off toward the glorious salvation of a hospital, which I will then show my gratitude to by pulling a couple hundred dollars out of my flourishing college student bank account and pay at the end of the day.” Completely plausible, yes?

After hearing this woman’s suggestion, and no longer finding any amusement in her insufferably condescending voice, I asked her if she found it unreasonable that my friend and I were trying to help a seemingly helpless animal. Not only did the squirrel’s condition appear to worsen, but there was also a pretty good chance that he was suffering because he might have gotten hit by a careless driver in that same parking lot in which we were standing. My theory was reaffirmed when Steve managed to limp underneath a car and we had to yell a warning at the driver as he was about to back out of the parking lot and send Steve to squirrel afterlife.

I understand the concept of letting nature take its course, not tampering with the animals’ fate. But I think that this case oversteps the bounds of nature if the animal was in fact injured by one of our forms of transportation, and unable to return to his home in the forest. For a University that purports to be a nature-loving establishment (we admire the Preserve, the green house, etc.) nobody really seemed to give a shit if this squirrel ended up flattened into the pavement or healed and restored.

Does that mean that we are a people of all talk, no show? Maybe I’m missing the point about our love for the Preserve and such. ’Tis true — it is a lovely haven for smokers, and since you can’t exactly turn a squirrel into smoking paraphernalia, sadly Steve falls swiftly out of the realm of interest and gets the shaft. Womp. Womp.