My father would take my brother and me to Greenwich Park to feed the grey squirrels. The squirrels would practically fight each other to get at the proffered little bags of nuts. Both parties in this offering of nuts, equally unsure of the others actions, a tableau of toing and froing would occur between child and squirrel until the bag was empty and it was time for us to ride on the donkeys.
Now I live in Scotland and the thieving grey squirrel has his face on wanted posters as the native Scottish squirrel is shy and needs our protection.
As yet the American grey has not reached the Cowal Peninsular and so the Red squirrel with his little-tufted ears lives in peace. We have our own who lives in our garden. Our neighbour claims he is theirs. But he is ours, and I just want that made clear.