Squirrel, owl, man and god

Why is the squirrel not named wise in the fables like the owl? 

He twitches and rushes. He hunts vegetable nuts to save and hoard. He chitters about with a cranky bark. 

His tail flashes with nervousness. His eyes bug out as if in a panic. 

He plays silly games with the other animals.

But the owl is smooth. He takes his time. He sleeps long hours. He hunts with simple, direct purpose. 

He takes small, quick, protein-packed meals. He flows with air and grace. 

He seldom blinks and sees directly. His call is a soft warning and slow, rare communication. 

He lives for one hunt at a time. He argues with no other creature. 

His clothing is plush and unadorned. His head rotates to see all. 

He’s rarely seen, but when he is it’s a lovely show for the creature that seldom spots him.

He works for himself and for no man or god. 

And what of the man and god who seldom see that tightly, intelligent owl? 

Those two have both squirrel and owl in them. 

They hoard the experiences of both. 

The man plays games of nervousness like that fearing squirrel. 

He stocks a refrigerator in a game of day-to-day panic. 

He builds complex structures to keep nature at bay and warm a body against the elements. 

He drugs himself to deny his nature. 

He fashions complex hunts to feed his ego. 

He makes his ego into a false god. 

He separates his feet from the ground with fashion footwear. 

He wants and waits for significant things to happen, while significance surrounds him at every turn. 

He hunts with imagination, even when imagination provides false hunting grounds. 

He pretends to love his living without knowing a thing about the life he’s in. 

He plans big schemes against a history he sure is true but holds no truth for any other animal.

He gives dope to his mind to add spice to a plot he deemed divine. 

He adds more dope to get a feeling of connected importance. 

But he knows so little of that connection. 

His wisdom is crafted from comparison to other men, and his wise moves come from nowhere he can identify. 

His life has purpose unknown. His doing a puppet show for audiences he barely understands. 

His show something more for vanity than anything else. 

He hunts and eats with no discernible purpose, and his rewards are outside of him. 

Charity to idols he makes up on a whim and understands very little. 

The man-god has intent and futility so far beyond any animal or myth. 

His story ends up absurd in a hole in the ground.