We have squirrels. I can’t help but feel that may be an understatement. We have very many squirrels. Not hundreds, but at times it can feel that way. You see, I’ve been fighting a losing battle against these bird seed eating hoards since we moved here eight years ago. While I have gained a healthy respect for their abilities to thwart any schemes designed to prevent their gluttonous consumption of our avian guest’s meals, my disdain for their presence has reached epic proportions.
Recently, I’ve been reconsidering my “live in harmony with all creatures” stance and have considered “violence leading to eradication” as an alternate mission statement. I am convinced that if squirrels where human they would be nuclear physicists, mathematicians, engineers, or some form of demented evil genius. They are unrelenting and goal oriented. As humans, they would all be billionaires. None of these statements are in question for anyone who has had to deal with these rodents on a regular basis.
Squirrel guards, squirrel proof feeders, (What a joke) sending my dogs after them, (They never get close) air horns to frighten them, even throwing cold water on them makes not the slightest difference. They just keep coming. They poop and pee and chew on our deck. If the feeder is empty they chew on our vinyl windows. Many are the mornings I walk out to fill the feeder and as many as a dozen squirrels scatter in all directions. It’s gotten out of hand. I’ll just go ahead and say it, I despise them. I had decided to take matters in another direction, one that lined up with my latter Mission statement.
That is, until my daughter called.
“Dad, I found a baby squirrel at the side of the road. He has a puncture wound in his chest and one eye looks cloudy and infected. What should I do? Will you take him?”
Karma is a persistent guest in my life.
My daughter is too naive to be perverse in her naming of this young male squirrel.
"Woody”, has been with us now for about six weeks.
He lived with us in our house for the first few weeks until he was healed up and no longer drinking the expensive powdered goats milk formula.
We have a pair of southern flying squirrels that came to us as babies. They live in a large outdoor habitat and can’t be released because they have imprinted on people, are very tame and probably wouldn’t survive in the wild. I moved “Greg and Flo’” to a smaller enclosure and moved Woody into their home. It was a temporary arrangement. Just until I could drop several hundred dollars building Woody a habitat of his own. Karma can be costly.
Over the years I’ve had the privilege of raising or rehabilitating hundreds of wild animals.
But, never a gray squirrel.
When you take the time to develop a relationship with a wild animal, you are given the unique opportunity to see another side of their personality. Often, intimate details that could never be gathered even from hundreds of hours of observation in fieldwork.
The other day, I was spending some time with Carl the crow. Another resident with an aviary just a few feet from Woody’s home. There is a chair in Carl’s cage where I sit while visiting. He requires copious amounts of intellectual stimulation (games he designed for me to lose) so visits are not allowed to be short. I looked over just as Woody had jumped up on a stump with arms full of leaves.
Once perched on the stump he threw the leaves in the air then, as they fell, quickly grabbed as many as he could catch and pull them back into his chest and belly. He flopped over on his back and once again threw the leaves into the air. This was done with such obvious joy and abandon that I couldn’t help but be moved. His joy became my joy and I laughed out loud.
I have been watching squirrels all my life, I’ve never seen one do that! I’m not saying they don’t, but, an animal in the wild, particularly one that low on the food chain, is always on the lookout for enemies. The question I would ask is, do they even possess the freedom or peace of mind (in the wild) to experience that kind of pure uninterrupted joy?
My answer to that question would be, Of course they do. Woody just proved it. Just because I’ve never observed it doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen. The knowledge of my presence alone would prevent it in the wild. Unless a wild squirrel was as comfortable with me as Woody is.
And trust me, around here, they are not.
So, Woody has become family. My wife and I spend as much time with him as we can. He is curious and playful and very lovable. Not like the seed eating hoards that flow from the surrounding forest like Attila and all the Huns, seeking out our bird feeders, leaving their detestable excrement and destructive chewing habits in their wake.
Woody is soft and cuddly, like a “Tickle Me Elmo doll.” He will jump from a branch onto your shoulder, stick his nose in your ear and grunt soft little sounds. He’ll run down your arm, grab a couple of your fingers, gather them up to his chest and gently nibble while grunting. He’ll roll over on his back in the palm of your hand and wait to be tickled on his exposed belly. Then he tries to push your finger away and turns his head from side to side, just like you were tickling a small child.
Needless to say, we are quite fond of Woody.
My wife and I worked for several days on a new squirrel habitat for Woody. When moving day arrived and everything was in place, I wondered how best to move him. Over the years I’ve become overconfident or maybe cavalier in my assessment of how animals should be handled.
Woody jumped on my shoulder when I walked in his enclosure. I thought, no need to stress him out by putting him in a box. His new home is only forty feet away, I’ll just walk him over on my shoulder.
Even an amateur should have known better.
Twenty feet from the cage our dog walked over to me for a greeting. Woody was spooked and jumped from my shoulder and landed on the driveway, terrified. He dashed over to Carl’s cage and ran up the side. Carl wasted no time and in a flash was after the squirrel. Woody leapt from the cage and landed on the forest floor with a thud. At that moment he looked just like any other squirrel that needed chasing. Our dog seized the opportunity and was in hot pursuit.
Woody leapt for the nearest tree and scrambled to the tipper most top, fifty feet off the ground.
This happened to be the coldest and windiest day of the late fall season. Woody, now perched on little more than twigs in the top of an oak tree swayed back and forth as the wind pushed the forest canopy in all directions.
I felt like an idiot. Which in fact, I was. My wife confirmed that assessment, and concurred with all my verbal debasements of my personhood that followed. When I was done, she turned and walked towards the house.
“Where are you going?” I asked
“In the house to get a blanket?”
“Why?”
She stopped and turned to face the idiot.
“Because it’s cold outside, and I’m going to sit in a chair by that tree, all day if necessary, and wait for him to come down.”
It was 8:30 am.
By 5 o’clock it was getting dark, and Woody had moved only slightly (and not in a downward motion) in over eight hours. We were so cold and our necks were sore and stiff from looking up all day. It was time to give up our vigil for today. The wind had died down somewhat but the temperature was dropping fast. Clinging to the top branches exposed like he was, Woody would be easy prey for an owl tonight. Even if an owl didn’t find him, I felt exposure to the cold could very well do him in. He hadn’t had time to develop a thick winter coat like the wild squirrels had and because of his previous injuries his growth was a little stunted. He was smaller than the other squirrels and weaker.
Sharon went in the house to make us something to eat and I stayed outside a few more minutes waiting. At 5:30 I walked towards the house. Standing on the porch, I turned back for one last look.
A small silhouette was making its way down the trunk of that tree. It was almost dark now and I could barely make out his movements. I ran in the house for a flashlight and Sharon followed me back outside. We spent the next half hour looking for Woody. We combed the forest floor, looked up the surrounding trees with our flashlights and scanned a perimeter larger than probably necessary. But we never found him.
Visions of a little Woody curled up on the forest floor shivering, hungry, thirsty and scared made sleep impossible. At 6am the following morning I headed back outside. I thought I would just sit in the chair and as it started to get light, I would wait for movement in the leaves. With any luck at all I would find him.
I had left the door of his cage open just in case, and when I approached the chair something shot out from the leaves and hit the inside wire of the cage startling me. I shone the flashlight into the cage and there sat Woody. But only for a second. He was not accustomed to being awake when it was dark, nor was he used to the intense beam from a flashlight. He dove into his nest box faster than my eye could follow, then poked his head out for reassurance. I spoke his name and when he heard my voice, he started to shake all over, then disappeared back into his box. I decided to shut the door and let him rest. I would check on him later. But when I went in the house to tell Sharon, she had to get up and see for herself. The wave of relief that washed over the two of us was not surprising. Nor has the irony of being happy to see a squirrel been lost on me.
We took the necessary precautions and moved Woody several days later to his new home, where he seems very content. Now, however, it was time to move the flying squirrels back to their own cage.
This would be much more involved. We often refer to the flying squirrel habitat as “Hotel California” because you can come in but you can never leave. They are like two meth addicts jazzed up on a caffeine frenzy. They never stop moving. In your pocket one minute then down your shirt and out your shirt sleeve the next. Jumping from branch to branch then on to your head and down your back, around your leg and back up to your face, quicker than the human eye can follow. Every time you think you can make your escape and head out the door, they are on you again. Quite comical and entertaining, until you’ve been trapped for over half an hour waiting for an opportunity to escape while being used as a human trampoline. Their move did not go as planned either... but that’s another story.
Adorable! Thank you for loving the critters! I have dreamed of having a wild place like yours and we are slowly creating it...appreciate your insights and inspiration!
Marvelous story, marvellously told! Woody is a lucky little guy to have you two taking care of him.