24 May 2012

I Saved A Baby Squirrel, Sort Of


Two days ago my daughter ran over a squirrel and she felt horrible about it. The incident reminded me of a time where I saved a baby squirrel. Well, sort of.

It was a cold and rainy day. Just kidding.  Remember; never start a story with a weather report.

First, I have to introduce my tabby cat, Precious. She was a rescue from the Leon County Humane Society about eleven years ago. She enjoys her independence, coming and going as she pleases. Sometimes I wonder if she's not truly evil.

I came home from work one day and discovered a baby squirrel on my front porch. It had two small puncture wounds on the back of its neck. When I heard a tiny peep, I froze. It was still alive. The poor squirrel's hind legs kicked a couple of times. The poor thing's eyes weren't even open yet.

I could hardly breathe for fear I'd signal a “call to action” by the illustrious feline sitting on the porch next to it. I must have forgotten to let her in before I left for work. Either way, she sat there, watching me, tail swishing back and forth.

It was at that time I decided I would rescue the baby squirrel and with what I felt was a menacing scowl, I hissed at Precious. Her agitation evident in the swishing of her tail, she stood at attention. The hissing didn't work, so I jumped forward in a quick motion with one foot stomping down in front of her. She reared back and scampered off.

I wrapped the baby squirrel up in some cheese cloth and immediately called my husband. After fifteen minutes of howling into the phone, I said, "Just hurry home, we have to take it to the vet."

"You have got to be kidding."

"No, get home right away."

I held the squirrel all the way to the St. Francis Wildlife Association (the vet was closed). I rushed the animal into the reception area and explained to the young lady what had happened.

She gave me a form to fill out and while I was filling out the form, I allowed her to take my bundled critter. When she peeled back the cloth to have a look, I was overwhelmed with pride to see it was still alive. I knew I'd done the right thing.

"Ma'am, this is a rat."

I looked up, obviously surprised.

"But it's okay," she said. "It's not a problem."

The thing is, it IS a problem. You see, at every gathering, at every barbeque, at every social event you might conceive a great platform for introducing a story of stupidity, my husband takes the opportunity to share this experience with anyone who is willing to listen. Therefore, I am posting it as a blog entry and sharing with the world so he doesn't feel the need to regurgitate it, yet again, this Memorial Day weekend.


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