I’m not sure how this happened. I’m serious. Last weekend some friends mentioned they’d rescued a squirrel, about teen-aged, that had been almost-eaten by their dog.
“OOH! Bring him over!”, I gushed, and picked up the phone to ask my dad to deliver his squirrel cage. Yes, people. We live in the country. You’d damn well better have a squirrel cage, living out here in the wilderness.
Did I mention the Home Depot opens in October?
Anyway. This isn’t actually the same squirrel. They didn’t want to move theirs, because the mother kept coming to see it, and besides, it died. So here sits the squirrel house (house sounds better than cage, right?) on the back porch, pitifully empty.
Lo and Behold! It’s like a Gift From Above! On a local messaeg board, someone posted that they rescued a baby squirrel from their garage and they acan’t take care of it!
So what do I do? Let me first tell you what I DIDN’T do.
I did not call my husband to run by the feeding a baby squirrel every three hours scenario with him.
I did not line up a squirrel sitter for next week, when we’ll be in Asheville for 5 days.
I did not spend any time working out the logistics of having a dog, a cat, and three kittens inside.
Here’s what I did do:
“hey! We’d LOVE TO TAKE HIM! We’re very experienced squirrel-raisers! We even have a custom made squirrel mansion for him to live in, complete with pipe for burrowing and branches for climbing!”
Hello, I’d like you to meet my husband. It would be fair to say that my husband a.) does not like decisions made that affect him, without being consulted and b.) does not take well to a huge disruption in routine and c.) HATES SQUIRRELS.
Even so, after a fair amount of cajoling and apologizing on my part, we welcomed Rocky into our lives. Rocky, stay strong. Remember, cats can’t cut through wire with those claws. I promise.