...Mr. Zazoo saves the day!
It was dinner time. I was preparing the kids' dinner while they waited patiently on the deck. All of a sudden Zazoo started barking crazy barks. Not the Afghan-barking-tourture every 10 seconds, but wild, erratic like "Mommy, that damn ililiShit!'s being bad" bark. So, I ran up the spiral staircase as quickly as I could without breaking my neck to see Zazoo's ears out of his shmatah and jumping and barking frantically. What now, Lassie?
No sign of ililiShit! so I ran toward the deck. Not there. I heard a high pitched chirping/squeaking sound and thought, "Oh, not again," as I ran down the stairs toward her. She totally ignored me and poked something with her nose. It was a baby squirrel. He was alive, thank God, and screamed to his mama. It was quite windy, so he probably was knocked out of his tree nest. Poor thing. I put the bitch safely away, grabbed a pair of latex gloves and a clean towel. The poor thing was almost in shock and he didn't move. But his eyes were open. I whispered as I gingerly picked him up. He didn't resist. I wrapped him loosely in the towel and put him to my bosom as I talked and made some silly little noises that I thought would comfort him. He believed he was safe and he let me touch him so I looked him over. No bites, no bugs. Good. He was just shook up. I would be too if I feel out of my penthouse flat onto a hard surface and then some floppy yellow giant with an ice cold nose started poking at me.
OK, now what? I was so shook up and happy and frightened but I didn't know what to do. With Rocky in my bosom, I walked over to the lady with the baby bunny incident and called Papa at the same time. He said the mama is looking for him and to get back there. He was right. Mama called and chirped for him but she wouldn't come down the fence. I had to get plan B. Daylight faded quickly. She said to contact wildlife rescue. So I did. I had a number in my phone but that woman said she couldn't take him. A few others said the same thing. They all said to put him where the mama could see him but the hawk circled and squealed. I didn't want to leave him. I finally got someone who was kind enough to stop in with baby squirrel formula and feed him. She told me Rocky was 6-7 weeks old and should go back to his mama. I had quickly read up on baby squirrels without mamas so I made a hot water bottle to keep him warm, in a towel in a box with some walnuts in a warm bathroom overnight. The plan: put him in the tree at dawn. Keep little shit away from Rocky. She paced on the window ledge licking her chops.
As I closed my eyes and put my head on the pillow, I recounted my day and I felt good that I helped Rocky. He was a sweet little guy and so friendly. I had pet him without gloves after the volunteer had held him in her hands. His fur was soft and he was a delicate little thing. I was so careful with him and didn't let his sharp, pointy claws get stuck in the towel because I read they can break a leg trying to get un-snagged. He let me hold him and I put him on my chest and I swear he was purring. There was a part of me that wanted to keep him and help him but I knew he belonged with another squirrel, not a squirrelly lady with two always-hungry-for-critters Afghan Hounds.
As soon as I opened my eyes in the morning, I saw mama squirrel as she came down the fence again to where I had placed him. I took him outside and climbed a ladder and put him in the fork of the tree. He came back toward me. So sad. I told him to find his nest and mama. I put him on the tree in a vertical position so he had to hold on and he climbed up, up, up, very quickly and precisely. Hooray! He was going home.
All the dogs were kept indoors all day and I listened and looked to see if he was rejected, fell out or decided to run away from home again. No sign of him. Good. Or is it?
I hope he comes back to visit me one day. Hats off to Rocky!
It was dinner time. I was preparing the kids' dinner while they waited patiently on the deck. All of a sudden Zazoo started barking crazy barks. Not the Afghan-barking-tourture every 10 seconds, but wild, erratic like "Mommy, that damn ililiShit!'s being bad" bark. So, I ran up the spiral staircase as quickly as I could without breaking my neck to see Zazoo's ears out of his shmatah and jumping and barking frantically. What now, Lassie?
No sign of ililiShit! so I ran toward the deck. Not there. I heard a high pitched chirping/squeaking sound and thought, "Oh, not again," as I ran down the stairs toward her. She totally ignored me and poked something with her nose. It was a baby squirrel. He was alive, thank God, and screamed to his mama. It was quite windy, so he probably was knocked out of his tree nest. Poor thing. I put the bitch safely away, grabbed a pair of latex gloves and a clean towel. The poor thing was almost in shock and he didn't move. But his eyes were open. I whispered as I gingerly picked him up. He didn't resist. I wrapped him loosely in the towel and put him to my bosom as I talked and made some silly little noises that I thought would comfort him. He believed he was safe and he let me touch him so I looked him over. No bites, no bugs. Good. He was just shook up. I would be too if I feel out of my penthouse flat onto a hard surface and then some floppy yellow giant with an ice cold nose started poking at me.
OK, now what? I was so shook up and happy and frightened but I didn't know what to do. With Rocky in my bosom, I walked over to the lady with the baby bunny incident and called Papa at the same time. He said the mama is looking for him and to get back there. He was right. Mama called and chirped for him but she wouldn't come down the fence. I had to get plan B. Daylight faded quickly. She said to contact wildlife rescue. So I did. I had a number in my phone but that woman said she couldn't take him. A few others said the same thing. They all said to put him where the mama could see him but the hawk circled and squealed. I didn't want to leave him. I finally got someone who was kind enough to stop in with baby squirrel formula and feed him. She told me Rocky was 6-7 weeks old and should go back to his mama. I had quickly read up on baby squirrels without mamas so I made a hot water bottle to keep him warm, in a towel in a box with some walnuts in a warm bathroom overnight. The plan: put him in the tree at dawn. Keep little shit away from Rocky. She paced on the window ledge licking her chops.
As I closed my eyes and put my head on the pillow, I recounted my day and I felt good that I helped Rocky. He was a sweet little guy and so friendly. I had pet him without gloves after the volunteer had held him in her hands. His fur was soft and he was a delicate little thing. I was so careful with him and didn't let his sharp, pointy claws get stuck in the towel because I read they can break a leg trying to get un-snagged. He let me hold him and I put him on my chest and I swear he was purring. There was a part of me that wanted to keep him and help him but I knew he belonged with another squirrel, not a squirrelly lady with two always-hungry-for-critters Afghan Hounds.
As soon as I opened my eyes in the morning, I saw mama squirrel as she came down the fence again to where I had placed him. I took him outside and climbed a ladder and put him in the fork of the tree. He came back toward me. So sad. I told him to find his nest and mama. I put him on the tree in a vertical position so he had to hold on and he climbed up, up, up, very quickly and precisely. Hooray! He was going home.
All the dogs were kept indoors all day and I listened and looked to see if he was rejected, fell out or decided to run away from home again. No sign of him. Good. Or is it?
I hope he comes back to visit me one day. Hats off to Rocky!
