Don’t you hate when you force yourself to do something–ignoring that blaring alarm your instinct activated to protect you–and it lands you right on a big predicament you now can’t dodge?
That’s the first thought that pops into my head when I detect the immobile baby squirrel in my path, five feet away, stopping me in my tracks. I’m taking a stroll in the woods with my partner. A futile plea to squelch the stress and anger 2020 has brought on and keeps fueling with every dramatic event that takes place. I’m still seething.
I can’t travel, I can’t see my friends nor my family abroad, and the US has turned into a depressing shit show with no intermission. More recently I was laid off from my remote job and sole source of income.
At this point, this timeline is essentially what Christian Gray aspires to be: a sadistic dom butt-fucking us with garden shears, using a mix of lemon juice and stinging nettle as lube.
Anyway, the squirrel is not reacting to our movements. I’m absolutely terrified that its paws might be injured. Or worse, that another hiker might have stepped on it and broken its spine.
‘Oh, no. No. No. Just what I needed,’ I lament, handing Rob my backpack to hold so I can inspect the animal.
I pet its head lightly and discover, with a long breath of relief, that it can walk normally. I gently pick it up and place it in my emptied-out backpack. It immediately grabs onto the seams and huddles up in the folds of the backpack.
‘What are you doing? It might be carrying disease. You shouldn’t be touching it,’ Rob protests.
In 2020, a baby squirrel is not the worst thing to happen upon.
‘It’s a baby! I’m not leaving it here’, I reply.
‘It’s a wild animal and you’re touching it! We can’t take it.’
‘It’s not carrying disease! It’s just a baby squirrel, so chill the fuck out!’ Rob’s callousness crystallizes my stored anger and I find myself lashing out. ‘I’m definitely taking it.’
‘It’s a squirrel! We can’t do anything for it!’
‘We sure as fuck can! You show so much compassion for humans. Why can’t you extend that to animals? Guess what, I can’t think of the last time I heard of a squirrel destroying the planet, or wearing a MAGA hat, or shooting a black person in their sleep! I’M NOT LEAVING THE FUCKING SQUIRREL HERE!’
Rob takes a moment to process my arguments and offers up a conciliatory alternative.
‘The mother might be looking for it, though. Let’s at least try to reunite them first.’
I assent.
We place the little fella on a tree and wait. It’s not making any noises. We play baby squirrel squeals on YouTube to alert the mother, and place both our phones on the ground near the tree. We step away and observe from afar.
Over an hour passes, but the mother doesn’t come. An article I find online says it might be setting up a new nest and will not come until it’s ready. What the fuck?!
‘Can you believe this shit? Imagine a human dropping their baby off at the supermarket and saying “oh, right now I’m too busy tidying up the house. I’ll be back later to pick it up.” Fucking irresponsible! I ought to put squirrel child services on her ass.’
No “check deez nuts” jokes from this rodent. Not on my watch.
It’s getting dark and the temperature is dropping. I refuse to leave the squirrel behind and Rob is now in agreement. We retrieve the squirrel from the tree and swaddle it in a towel, to keep it warm.
‘I keep saying “it”. Do you think it’s a male,’ I wonder aloud on our way back to the car.
‘It’s definitely a male. It has a very obvious penis.’
‘So I thought. Just what the world needs. Another man and his toxic masculinity. I’m nipping that shit in the bud and raising him to be a feminist.’
The truth is I’m relying on humor to mask my doubts about my ability to raise a baby squirrel. I’m clumsy as fuck! What if I step on him? What if I sit on him? And can I be a good role model for a squirrel? I don’t even like nuts!
We get back in the car with and assess our options. All the supply shops have already closed. None of the few veterinarians I’m able to reach agree to treating a wild animal, for reasons unknown. I don’t want the squirrel–to whom we’ve started referring as Tiny Jo–to starve overnight. We stop at the store and buy a syringe and the ingredients to prepare a squirrel formula substitute: fresh goat milk, plain yogurt, and honey.
If I weren’t gay, I’d be running out to buy a DIY vasectomy kit.
My first puppy was about three days old when I found her on the street. I’m hopeful that my experience raising her will translate here. Sadly, he refuses to swallow the makeshift formula, which keeps dribbling out of his mouth and down to my lap. He may be aspirating the rest, which is common for baby squirrels and often results in fatal pneumonia. I’m stressed out of my mind.
I call Henry’s Healthy Pets’ helpline and Leigh, the wonderful human behind it, teaches me how to test the squirrel’s level of dehydration: I lightly pinch his skin and count how long it takes to go back flat. Six seconds. He’s extremely dehydrated and has been on his own for several days.
Despite Leigh’s patient instructions and untiring support, Tiny Jo is not cooperating. An hour goes by before I give up. I furiously search online for solutions, for treatments for potential pneumonia, for veterinarians specialized in exotic pets…
Rob wants to turn in and keeps insisting it’s getting late. I leave Jo cuddled up to a rice buddy under a blanket and join him in the shower. I’m on edge, increasingly doubtful of my ability to save the squirrel.
Raging bitch mode: activate!
A few splashes of water are all it takes to trigger an explosion of pent-up frustration.
‘I washed my hair this morning! How many fucking times do I have to ask you to be careful and not spray me with water?’
‘I’m sorry! I’m trying to be careful. Why are you so angry?’
‘BECAUSE I’VE ASKED YOU THIS MULTIPLE TIMES! WHAT DO I NEED TO DO TO BE RESPECTED IN THIS GODDAMNED HOUSE,’ I roar, my eyes flaring at him. Crazy has taken the wheel. Now I’m being an asshole, complaining about getting wet… in the shower.
‘You know what? Fuck this shit! I’m done with this shower and being berated,’ Rob yells as he storms out of the bathtub.
His justified reaction brings me out of the cloud of rage that engulfed me. I feel terrible and apologize profusely. I’m reminded of one of the myriad reasons I’ve never wanted children: I don’t want nor am I equipped to deal with the stress and vulnerability that come with raising a child. What if they get eaten by a hawk?
I wake up in the middle of the night to try to feed Tiny Jo once again, with no luck. I reheat his rice buddy and go back to bed.
In the morning he’s still alive, to my relief, but the little fucker continues to spit out everything I try to feed him.
‘WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME? EAT, YOU BIG-TOOTHED BASTARD!!!’ I want to pull my hair out.
Rob has been making some phone calls and found us a wildlife rescue center that can take Tiny Jo. They’re only thirty minutes away, but at this point I’d be willing to drive as far as Alaska. We place him in a padded box with his rice buddy and a towel and drive out there.
A pleasant lady comes out to collect the squirrel and I grill her with trick questions. I need to make sure they’re not going to feed him to a hawk after we leave. She appeases my fears. Before we leave I vouch to order them several bags of special squirrel formula as soon as I get home.
I never called them to check on Tiny Jo. I do not know whether he made it. The lady at the center said she saw no reason why he wouldn’t, so I’ll go with that. I’m hopeful and want to stay that way.
I miss him, but I know keeping him would have been unwise. I suspect the added stress during this pandemic might have broken up my relationship. Plus, now Tiny Jo is getting properly rehabilitated so he can return to the wilderness and freedom into which he was born.
If anyone can empathize with that need, it is me.
Have you ever rescued a wounded or abandoned animal? Would you have kept Tiny Jo?
IMPORTANT QUICK TIPS WHEN CARING FOR BABY SQUIRRELS
– Do NOT feed them puppy formula or regular milk.
– Keep baby squirrel warm with a “rice buddy” (a sock filled with uncooked rice or lentils, which you can microwave), but be sure that it’s not so hot that it’ll burn the animal.
– Listen carefully for wheezing sounds, which can signal pneumonia and must be treated with antibiotics.
Note: I was NOT compensated in any way for the links in this post. I link to Henry’s Healthy Pets because the squirrel formula they sell is the one recommended by the wildlife rescue center, and because their customer support is absolutely stellar!
OMG Tiny Jo is so freaking cute 😍😭🤯. I am so glad you found a place to take care of him!
He was adorable!! Sometimes the thought that I should have kept him still crosses my mind, but then I’d also feel bad about keeping the poor thing in captivity.
That lucky squirrel! You went above and beyond the call of duty and I commend you. I agree with keeping it hopeful that he made it- w/o getting confirmation. You need closure 🙂 I definitely would NOT have kept it. You did the right thing. I have rescued cats while I was growing up. I’d always get in trouble with my mom “stop bringing smelly cats home”! LOL
I was really tempted to keep it, but I was super afraid that we’d end up stepping on it. Or that we’d have to leave it with someone in order to travel and that they’d either have to risk stepping on it or keep it in a cage the whole time, which was out of the question. This way he’s hopefully being reintroduced to his natural habitat. I hope those “smelly cats” were lucky enough to stay! Haha!