August 20, 2011
Baby Squirrels and a squirrel history
I remember squirrel being a word I found incredibly difficult to learn to spell when I was in grade school. I am married to someone with such antipathy for the creatures that he threatens to run them over when they dash in front of the car (Reader, he is all talk). My mother had a moth-eaten squirrel coat in an attic that I loved playing dress-up with when little. I have even been in a car under attack by a squirrel gone wiggy from being sprayed when the county thought that was a clever way to fight bird disease. But with all this squirrely history, nothing tops the velvety sweetness of a baby squirrel. Here are two, brought to where my daughter works, she is the animal whisperer, by someone who saw them fall from a tree...no other details known, the person was not clear. She gave them some kitten formula (how I remember this well when I was chief wetnurse to five baby rats being raised on kitten formula - and yes, I am afraid of rats, oh, the irony). She drove them after work to a squirrel rehabber (go figure, a number of them in our vicinity) with her brother acting as wingman (I volunteered and was sweetly informed that she needed someone who could see in the dark and follow driving directions, that would not be me on either count). They are like velvet, those little gray coats. Their trusting baby legs cling to your fingers as they sleep dreaming their little squirrel dreams.