When she first came to us, she was no bigger than my thumb. A helpless hungry furry being who lived in darkness and silence. Neither her ears nor her eyes had opened yet, like all babies her existence was nothing more than eating, sleeping and feeling the pain of hunger; perhaps the gentle touch and smell of mother. She could drink no more than one cc of formula every four hours so getting up a couple of times during the night those first couple of weeks was necessary.
A cat had found her among the leaves on the forest floor and brought the prize home as a gift. Thankfully she was not harmed and a compassionate man brought her to us believing her chances of survival were slim at best. I too, had reservations about our ability to help something so small and fragile. But in her world, nothing much had changed. It was still dark and it was quiet; a heating pad was placed under her box so she remained warm, and as long as the food kept coming, she was content.
When she was a little over a month old her eyes began to open, her fur was soft and luxurious and her tail had started to fluff up a bit with many fine feather-like hairs. By seven weeks she was becoming curious about the world outside of her nest box and like all nocturnal creatures was most active at night.
She is a southern flying squirrel. We are very familiar with them, they come to our bird feeder at night by the dozen. Like frantic lunatics, jazzed up and reckless on a caffeine induced frenzy, gliding in from all directions on invisible zip lines to inundate the feeding station with constant motion. Unusually tame and trusting, they occasionally allow us to touch their unbelievably soft fur with a slow-moving finger. I was confident we would be able to gradually introduce and release her into this local tribe and all would be well
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The first feelings of reluctance started to emerge when my wife gave her a name, Florence, “Flo'” for short. Before long I had allowed myself to be drawn in and swallowed up by her large, sorrowful and almost cartoon like eye’s. As she grew and her personality emerged it became impossible to resist her. If she heard us in the living room, she would bound out of her box grab the bars of her cage and shake them like an enraged prisoner. I could envision her dragging a miniature tin cup back and forth across the bars and pleading to the warden for release. When I open the door and put my hand in her cage she jumps into my palm, takes her tiny hands, wraps them around a finger and presses her soft little head against the skin in an obvious affectionate hug. This of course, causes my heart to completely unravel and I immediately find a thousand reasons why she can never be released into the wild
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The TV has become obsolete now, as our evenings are taken up by the most entertaining and lively companion. It seems she can never decide who she loves more as she bounds back and forth between my wife and I, dancing up a pant leg or shirt sleeve, finding a cozy pocket or a snuggle spot. If you’re laying down, she loves to lay across your throat so she can feel the vibration when you speak to her. She loves games and insists we participate. Hide and seek being her favorite, of course. There are blinds made from a honeycombed fabric that hang from all our windows, she speeds up, down and across chasing or being chased by a flagitious finger and squeaks her annoyance if you don’t let her win. She likes to sample whatever you may be snacking on (thank you very much) and can literally attach herself to your face to pry loose anything from your lips you foolishly try to hoard for yourself. She even likes to partake in a little snort of blueberry beer, just to be social you understand. A gregarious socialite, Flo’ loves to meet new people and will wake up during the day if there are visitors. She’s never as lively during the daylight hours but simply must come out to introduce herself and greet the guests
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Less than ten inches from the tip of her nose to the end of her tail, smaller than a chipmunk, but her personality fills the room. An orphaned fox squirrel was brought to us several weeks after Flo’. He was a lumbering, slow-witted giant by comparison with a distinct personality of his own, but could never match the swift antics of his smaller cousin.
Sometimes nature finds her fairest expression in such small living things. As a casual observer, a naturalist, even as a scientist, we miss out on the most intimate details of life when we ignore or gloss over the possibilities of relationship. And who would imagine becoming so fond of the tiny whiskered face of a rodent, the sharp wit and sensitivity behind those dark eyes; no longer a mystery, but a portal into a new level of understanding. Being raised by people has made her unafraid, but it hasn’t made her more intelligent, more curious, social or mischievous. I watch the behavior of her cousins that visit our feeder at night. They are the same, fun-loving socialites with a contagious exuberance
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So, when the first warm breath of spring blows through the forest, just a few months from now, Flo’ will move to a cage out on the back deck by the feeding station where she can start to have relationship with her new tribe. The research I’ve done on these tiny nocturnal acrobats is not encouraging. Most don’t make it through their first year. Owls, weasels, hawks and snakes work against their odds; even so, she deserves the chance to become a mother and help perpetuate her kind. Even if her dance is short, it will have purpose and no doubt, great enthusiasm
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A completely captivating report. I adore flying squirrels though I've seen one only once in my life. I'm always hoping to find one in my woodsy backyard. You gave me the experience vicariously. So thank you for that.
❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️