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Fox Squirrel Rescue III: But Wait! There's More!

Thursday, April 30, 2015 0:27

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I watched Angel feeding the orphaned fox squirrels, and even tried it myself. It’s harder than it looks. They wiggle a LOT, and chew the nipple, and choke, and aspirate milk so it comes out their nose, and it’s just hard to get it right. I flashed back to learning to nurse Phoebe, how much there was to know about this thing that instinct tells you should come naturally. I mean, if I were dropped 9 months pregnant on a desert island with enough pork chops and ice cream, I would certainly be able to deliver myself of a baby and figure out how to nurse her, but it sure helps to have a midwife right there talking you through it.

Angel explained that you can’t push the rubber nipple directly against their young developing teeth or you could damage them so they wouldn’t come in right. “Hard experience,” she said, and I could hear in her voice that lessons learned the hard way take a toll on the heart. Angel explained that you always insert the nipple from the side, where rodents and lagomorphs (rabbits) have no teeth, then let the baby orient straight on to the nipple once it’s in his mouth. Oh. It makes so much sense when she says it, but who’d know that without being told?

The little hands, gripping and re-gripping the bottle, just killed me.

I asked lots of questions. How long do you think they’ve been without food?

“If something happens to their mother, it takes three to four days before they’ll leave the nest.”

Three to four DAYS?? These little things have been starving that long?? It’s amazing they’re still alive. I had guessed correctly that they were driven out of the nest by hunger, but I’d never imagined they’d been in trouble that long. Man. A bird would have been dead within 24 hours.

How many babies in a typical litter?

“Four. There should be two more there.”

A chill went down my legs to my feet. Oh no. Nonono. I packed up my stuff, thanked Angel, and headed out. It was getting dark, and I could only think about the other two squirrellets, sure to be there somewhere.

I raced back to the site. It was really raining now. I listened from up on the road, not wanting to go back down that awful hill when it was slippery and getting dark. All was silent. When I found the two crying babies this afternoon, I had listened, but hadn’t hear any more.

Reluctantly, I went home. But the thought that there were more squirrels chased me to bed, and woke me up the next morning.

I had a busy morning which segued into noon and suddenly I looked up and ran to the closet to suit up for a run. I looked at the sky. Pregnant again, and threatening a downpour. I didn’t pack a raincoat. It was warm. Chet and I headed out, toward the cowpasture and the steep hill.

And upon getting near, my unbelieving ears picked up a weak peeping from way down in the woods. From the same spot. Another night and half a day had passed. And there were more.

It began to rain, then to pour. I picked my way over the fence and down the slope again and started searching beneath the nest tree.

I was too late for this little boy. Thinking perhaps he was just torpid (as well as soaking wet and cold), I picked him up to warm him. But something, probably a shrew, had come up from beneath and, well, his underside wasn’t pretty. I feel sure he was gone before that happened, though.

The forest floor is a hard place to be a baby.

Still there was a peeping. I looked up and saw a tiny squirrel wobbling around atop the nest in the now-pouring rain. Unbelievable. It was agitated, its tail up, moving jerkily.

I called to it as Angel had told me to, sucking my cheek in against my teeth, making a loud squirrelly smacking sound. It became even more agitated, and suddenly leapt into space and landed at my feet.

All the air went out of me, and I stood there, my head ringing with the wonder and disbelief of it all.

It had landed well, on soft leaf litter, as well as you can land, falling 40 feet.

And it was as if that tiny animal knew that the only way it was getting out of this predicament was to leap practically into the arms of a most unlikely savior.

Suddenly I realized that it was no accident that the second squirrel had also jumped from the nest at the moment had I arrived yesterday. They’d heard me crunching around in the leaves far below, and hoped against hope that it was help they’d heard.

My eyes filled with tears at the realization that they were like people jumping from a burning building, hoping someone might be down there to catch them.

Well, I was. Again.

I picked the dear little thing up and again, there was blood at the nose, and it didn’t look great, but it was better than being stuck in the nest in the pouring rain.

Another male. All four had been males.

It was getting on to time for Liam to come home, and it was pouring hard, so I stuffed the little thing into my sports bra and, one hand to my chest, ran for home. I felt fleas leave the cold little animal and riffle against my skin. The rain had picked up, and Chet was doing his hanging-back thing again, only moreso this time. He had started for home, wanting no part of this pouring rain, another squirrel rescue, or the temptation that went with it. I called to him to wait for me and he stood, one paw up, his ears pasted back, his back hunched, the picture of impatience.

He led me all the way home, and was so glad to finally make the front porch. Mether. Open this door. I am soaked! I have to scrubble around on the carpet and dry myself, snort like a pig and kick my arms and legs straight up! Now! NOW!

I peeled off my soaked clothes and quickly dressed, keeping the squirrel swaddled in down the whole time.

I called Bill and he was just coming from out of town, picking Liam up at the evening bus on the way. I told them to wait at the corner and I’d meet them and show them something they’d never seen.

Liam’s eyes got big as saucers when I got out of my car, reached into my bra and pulled this little squirrel out.

Bill took our picture. It was a moment.

I drove to Angel’s house again, and held the squirrel while she mixed up another bottle of formula.

Another day out in the cold and rain, and this last one was somehow still alive. Angel told me that the big male, the one with the bloody nose, had died around dawn. The fall had been too much for him. She had buried him out back, and wept. After all these years of helping animals, her heart is just as tender as ever. She still had one left, the smaller male from that first batch–the baby I told you to remember. This would be the third I’d brought. The fourth was dead on the ground. At least I had accounted for all four of them. Two down, two still with us.

Famished, the new refugee lit into the bottle like a little fiend.

Julie Zickefoose is a painter and writer who lives on a nature sanctuary in Appalachian Ohio. She is the author of Letters from Eden and The Bluebird Effect: Uncommon Bonds With Common Birds, due in spring 2012. http://juliezickefoose.blogspot.com

Source: http://juliezickefoose.blogspot.com/2015/04/fox-squirrel-rescue-iii-but-wait-theres.html

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