The Squirrel

I have been relentessly teased about this story for a long time by the people who know it and decided it was time to open myself up to even more teasing by those of you who don't know this story.  This is a story about a squirrel that entered our lives in a spring several years ago.

I was still out on maternity leave and was out mowing the lawn in our backyard.  As I was going along with my headphones blasting my Portuguese music (yes, I listen to Fado while I mow the lawn.  Don't judge me), I noticed a small grey bundle, about the size of a half dollar, sitting in the lawn dangerously close to the mower blades.  I turned off the mower, because, well, safety first, and went to see what it was.  There, in the grass was a teeny, tiny, newborn, baby squirrel.  Now, as I mentioned already, I was still out on maternity leave and, as such, my hormones were not in the their typically well balanced state (hahahahahaha..."well balanced state"...funny) and I may have been slightly more emotional than I otherwise am.  In any case, I saw this baby squirrel and realized that I had been dangerously close to committing squirder (the term "squirder" shall henceforth refer to the act of murdering a squirrel.  While I may not use this term again in this post, you may feel free to use it and enjoy knowing how it came be a part of the English language).  Something in me seemed to cry out, "This poor baby needs to be with his/her (I didn't check to see if it was a boy or girl squirrel because, let's be honest, that would be weird) mama!"

With tears now streaming down my face, I ran inside the house to research how to reunite a baby squirrel with its mommy.  Surprisingly, a Google search turned up very little.  There wasn't even a TED Talk on the subject.  I mean really.  In any case, I came up with a solution and quickly went around the house collecting the materials I needed to save this squirrel.  As I'm racing around the house, Nicole is looking at me worriedly and asking, "What's the matter?  What are you doing?"  For the next several minutes, I continued gathering materials and silently weeping while Nicole kept trying to find out what was wrong.  Finally, I was able to push past the lump in my throat and explain how I had narrowly averted becoming a squirderer, and was now needing to initiate Operation SOS (Save Our Squirrel).  Nicole, perhaps recognizing my fragile state, took a few moments before blankly looking at me and responding, "Uh.  What?" I decided I couldn't bear to tell the story again and went about constructing the makeshift shelter that would serve to reunite the Baby Squirrel Doe with its mother.  I attached the shelter to the tree where Baby Doe could be off the ground, but still visible to it's mother, and ran back inside to wait and watch the tearful reunion.  And I waited.  And I waited.  It seemed like hours that little Doe was out there, but no mama came.  I didn't know what to do.  Was this the equivalent of leaving a baby at a fire station?  Was the squirrel mother worried about how to feed another mouth and just couldn't take it anymore? Was there a squirrel DCF that I could call about this poor abandoned baby?  Would the squirrel authorities come and pick up the baby to put it in squirrel foster care?  Would the squirrel one day be adopted and be told the story of the brave stranger that saved his (or her) little life?

By now, it was getting dark with storm clouds rolling in.  I decided Baby Doe couldn't be out there all night waiting for his neglectful mother to return.  I went outside, picked up the makeshift shelter and brought it inside.  At this point, Nicole looked at me, looked down at the box, and looked back at me again.  I would like to say she had a look of, "I love how caring you are" in her eyes, but the conversation went more like this:
Nicole: Uh.  What are you doing?
Me: I'm saving this squirrel.  He can't be out there all night defenseless and in the cold.  He needs to be safe in the house.
Nicole: Uh.  We have a baby in the house and we are NOT having this wild animal sleep in our house all night.
Me: But, it can't sleep outside!  It will die!
Nicole: Fine.  Put the box out in the garage.
Me: Ok.  (I walk out to the garage and immediately return with Baby Doe).  It's too cold out there.  It needs to be inside.
Nicole: You're crazy.
Me: The squirrel can sleep in the laundry room.  It's warm in there and I can close the door (because apparently I was worried about the squirrel's ninja skills and ability to be able to escape the box).

I am happy to report everyone made it through the night without injury or incident.  In the morning, before leaving work, Nicole gave me a kiss and, in no uncertain terms, told me to make sure the squirrel was not in our house when she got home.  As soon as she left, I decided I needed to do something.  I was developing a squirrel savior complex and was hell bound and determined to not let this little squirrel die on my watch.  I contemplated feeding it, but decided breast feeding a baby squirrel was not going to happen.  I mean, come on, how was that little baby going to latch on?  Geez.  So, I started calling animal rescue leagues and humane societies.  What I came to find out was that, apparently, many baby squirrels fall out of their nests in the spring and most places had already reached capacity for the number of squirrels they were able to accomodate.  I kept calling with my hopes steadily diminishing until, finally, I found a place that was willing to help me complete my SOS mission.  Granted, the place was 30 miles away, but whatevs.  So, I loaded up the baby (and my kid) and drove the half hour to drop off the squirrel.  When I arrived, there was very little fanfair as I heroically and proudly dropped off the squirrel.  I said my goodbyes and off I went.

That was several years ago and now, I am confident in the fact that I did save that baby squirrel who, now, has rejoined the squirrel community and has told tales of the savior who rescued him.  I know, deep inside, that somewhere in a tiny squirrel village there is a monument erected to me, and maybe even some squirrel currency with my picture on it.  I am certain, that on some summer nights when all is quiet, I can hear tiny voices singing my praises in the trees in our backyard.  Nicole would argue that there are meds for that, but in my heart, I know it is the squirrel faithful who continue to recognize and praise my bravery and courage on that dark spring night.