I’ve been preoccupied with death lately. My Mother continues to wage her battle with terminal cancer while we try our best to carry on with our lives. Depression and helplessness hang heavy in my heart, especially while I am back at my home hoping to get our house sold. Sometimes it just feels like too much.

A few days ago, while Jeff and I were grilling out, he showed me a baby squirrel that had fallen from its nest. Obviously too young to fend for itself, and stunned from its plummet to the ground, the squirrel was barely able to lift its head, much less climb back up its tree.

Let me preface this by saying I am no fan of squirrels. They alone have cost me a small fortune in my futile attempts to “squirrel proof” my tomatoes, grapes and apples. But the little buggers find a way, every time, to out-wit, out-play, and out-last me.

But I digress. A helpless baby anything will steal my heart every time.

Retrieving a pair of gloves, I picked Squiggy (it just came out as his name…)  up and set him in a low fork of the tree. He attempted a few wobbly steps before falling back to the ground.

Hmmm… It was getting dark and I know there are plenty of predators (even here in the city) that would love to eat little Squiggy for a late-night snack. Owls, hawks and coyotes, to name a few. Chance, my Bichon, to name another. However, I still wanted his Mommy to have a chance to rescue him, so we devised a “bed-platform” with 2 pillows, and Squigs immediately nestled between the two and took a nap.

First thing next morning, I checked on him, and it appeared that Squiggy had not moved overnight. Mommy had not come for him. Maybe she was no longer…. I refused to let this little one perish on my watch. He needed me!

Knowing that he must be dehydrated and needed electrolytes, I put some coconut water into a dropper and fed him. Boy, howdy, little Squiggy drank and drank!

But I knew a helpless baby squirrel would never make it alone, and we were slated to return to Florida and my parents.  I located an animal rehab group, AWARE, and the squirrel-lady said to bring him to her.

Job. Well. Done.

Arriving home, I had another “surprise”. Squiggy’s brother had landed in the exact same spot on the ground.  Friday Atlanta rush-hour is no time to haul a baby squirrel back across town, so, assuming mommy-squirrel was not around, I fixed brother “Lenny” a nice box with towels for him to burrow under. After multiple feedings, we retired for the night, but the next morning it appeared that Lenny had not fared so well. He was barely moving and not too interested in eating, and his body felt cold, so I placed  a heating pad in his box before taking him back to the squirrel-lady.

 

“He doesn’t look so good”, she said as I left. That’s when the tears came. What had I done wrong? Had I failed this helpless little creature? Doubt washed over me as I assumed myself a hapless “squirrel-killer”.

I pondered his fate for most of a restless night, and finally got the courage to check in with her the next day.

“They are both doing well. Good Job.”

Good Job

My heart lifted.

I was not, after all, a Harbinger of Death.  And, as it turns out, this weekend was one of mutual rescue.