Mini-Squirrels

“How far that little candle throws its beams!
So shines a good deed in a naughty world.”
(William Shakespeare)

There isn’t anything that’s a whole lot better than a baby squirrel. Even after years of raising them, their development continues to fascinate me.

Despite this year’s sabbatical, we have 9 orphans in residence, each one growing like the proverbial weed. The first arrival was Elaine, an orphaned fox squirrel found during a lawn mowing session and in kind ignorance fed cow’s milk. This is always a worrisome situation, for it can cause not only messy digestive upset but have adverse affects on growth if it doesn’t kill them. Fortunately, Elaine was not subjected to much of the nasty stuff and grew into a beautiful juvenile. A busy little talker from Day One, she was always chittering and chattering and muttering and would regularly tick the “mommy song” to me given any opportunity; for a while I swore she was going to take a syringe of formula with her when she’s finally released.

The second arrival was Lincoln Puddles. A rather serious little boy, he was just opening his eyes when the heavy rains and winds reached this region after Hurricane Ike and somehow ended up in the middle of one of our streets here, right off a busy intersection. During rush hour. It’s really a miracle some tired and distracted driver hadn’t run him over but the squirrel gods apparently have a plan for him; a neighbor spotted him on her way home, picked him up out of the puddle, and promptly delivered him here. He is almost 2 weeks younger than Elaine, but well-suited to her in temperament and so ended up as her foster brother.

Amelia arrived next. Approximately 6 weeks old, the little black-phase grey girl squirrel had taken quite a nose dive some time before she was spotted sunning her Self near a rock wall on one of the first truly chilly days of fall. Obviously too small to be out alone, closer inspection revealed a horribly split lower lip through which her lower incisors could be seen clearly, one of which had been broken. Her nose and forehead were swollen, she was sneezing, and her eyes wandered in that distinct pattern indicating a concussion.

Another serious closed-head injury. Nothing to do but supportive care and a course of antibiotics but Amelia was lucky. This spunky little reincarnation of my precious, greatly-missed “Tiny Mighty Armstrong” healed and the only signs of her grave misfortunes are a couple of tiny knots remaining on her forehead.

Then came Moose. Dropped off at my vet’s office, he was simply desperate for a mother’s attentions; it was all I could do to keep him in the small box and quiet on the short ride back to the house. A model baby, he wanted only to eat, potty, and sleep but after a couple of days it was apparent exposure had been a cruel companion and he was also put on a course of antibiotics to stave off pneumonia. He took it like a trooper and though it took his tender digestive system quite a while to settle down, he’s a tiny tank and became a perfect foster brother to slightly older, though surprisingly gentle Amelia.

These 4 are spending the winter out in one of the big pre-release pens and while it was a bit dicey the first couple of weeks as they became accustomed not only to the new digs but also to new companions, they are now settled in out there comfortably.

What I have noticed is that all of our second-litter babies this year (excepting 2 of the 4 pine squirrels) are smaller than normal. I do a double-take each time I go back out to the pens and see my merry little band, and again when I am mobbed by them at feeding time. We are overwintering 3 inside this year who are a bit younger and even smaller; each of them still so tender and fragile that I often forget they are now actually very near release age. It’s certainly not due to the way they were raised since 2 of the 3 came into our organization’s care at barely 2 weeks of age and have never wanted for proper nutrition.

It is the same situation with the wild-raised fox squirrels here in the ‘hood, too. A pair of youngsters now show up almost every day with the rest of the bush-tailed beggars, likely Eleanor’s kids, yet showing none of the usual heft her offspring have normally displayed by this age.

Makes me wonder if there is something untoward going on in the environment and these small-statured squirrels are the proverbial canary in a coal mine. Or is it merely an odd, stray current in the ebbs and flows of the gene pool?

I suppose the answer will come with the spring orphans.