Schrodinger Squirrel

 Sept. 10, 2014, I got a slightly panicked call from a friend of mine. "Ann - I found a baby squirrel.  What do I do?"
And, of course, my response was "meet me with it."

He said that it did have some fur, but the eyes were closed, which made it 2-3 weeks old.  I was expecting a squirrel about 2 1/2 inches long, maybe weighing an ounce.  What he gave me was more like an inch and a half long, and when I weighed him, he tipped the scale at 9 grams - about 1/3 ounce.  Tiny flying squirrel.

So small that I had to use an IV tip on a syringe to feed him.  And feed him I did - around the clock.  I got it down to a fine art:  I could get up at 2 a.m., warm his milk, feed him, get him settled back down, clean the syringe, and be back in bed by 2:12.

Nine days - 60+ feedings later - he was growing fast. Up to 1/2 ounce

And in three more weeks his eyes were open, and I could give up the 2:00 a.m. feedings.

It was about this time he got his name.  Normally, I don't name my fosters; it makes it easier to give them up when it's time for the release.  But one day I fed him, then put him back in his basket.  A moment later, I heard a little squeak - and was horrified to see that he had coughed up some of his milk and was choking on it.  He was starting to shake - which means death in about a minute.  I grabbed his syringe, stuck it down his throat, and pulled back on it.  A minute went by - then two and three.  He continued to tremble, but he was breathing.  Every time I went to check, I would pause for a moment, because until I actually looked, he could be either dead or alive.  Hence - Schrodinger's Squirrel.   That's a lot of name for such a small critter, so he became Dingo.

I bought him a castle.

I had not planned on keeping him; I was very good about releasing my fosters, no matter how attached I got.  But I wasn't able to get any more flying squirrels to raise with him, and the rehabbers I contacted didn't have any so that I could hand him over.  It was a late spring that year - by the time it was warm enough to release him, the rehabber I worked with said he was too imprinted and that I should keep him.

I learned to keep a binder clip on the cage door.  It was one of those where a bar fits into a notch to keep it closed - but he figured out how to grab it and lift it out and have his escape and spend the night exploring the room (I am a bit sentimental now about the chewed pages on some of my books.)

I read that flying squirrels fluoresce under black light - so I got my flashlight and - sure enough.

 Of course, there is a reason I'm making this little trip down memory lane.  He turned 12 a month ago, which is pretty old for something the size of a hamster.  He's been showing his age, tending to lose his balance when running around, and sometimes seeming a little confused.  But even last night he was being lively, and demanding his cashew (he was quite the little gourmet).  His fur was still sleek and smooth, his bright little eyes undimmed.

But this afternoon, he was gone.  He lived in the back room, away from the cats (but where my other fosters would live.  I think he liked it when I had new baby critters, because he never outgrew his liking for the special milk formula).  It's going to be quieter and lonelier back there now.  Even though he was nocturnal, every time I walked in the room, he would have his head out of his castle window, demanding his tribute of a peanut.  My tiny prince in his little castle.

I'll miss him.