Putting a baby squirrel upfront

One of the latest videos making the rounds on the Internet is that of an ample-bosomed woman wearing a low-cut tank top - and this time, it's not in connection with the latest porn offering on the Net. The woman's face is deliberately obscured to protect her privacy: She is being questioned by police in Ohio as a potential witness to a crime.

The law enforcement angle is not, however, what is making Internet news and causing all those visitors' hits to the site. The drawing card is the appearance of a baby squirrel, popping in and out of her monumental mountain range of cleavage.

This squirrel-in-a-bra has become mother nature's answer to the jack-in-the-box.

To rehabbers, the reason behind the squirrel's mammary mansion is no secret. Women who care for wildlife and are blessed with hospitably sized bustlines often make use of these physiological nooks and crannies to keep infant wildlife warm, particularly if the baby is at an age when thermoregulation - the ability to maintain one's own body temperature - is still a challenge.

However, many rehabbers also practice a form of modesty and prudence - they may house the baby squirrel (or some other species there) but they don't let it all (and the squirrel) hang out. For one thing, it attracts attention. For another, the animal can fall out. It just isn't safe.

I cannot imagine what possessed this particular display except perhaps that the woman had no other place to leave the squirrel while she went in for interrogation.

Her heart was obviously in the right place. Unfortunately, in this instance, her squirrel was not.

When fear spreads, like a pox

Red squirrels in Scotland are dying.

So says this report in the Scotsman which rightfully points a finger at the eastern grey squirrels - members of the non-native species who never asked for transport across the Atlantic but, nonetheless, are there. And with them is a lethal form of pox that, once it seizes its victim, kills over a period of weeks.

The greys are considered carriers - not victims themselves - because they appear to have some measure of immunity.

It is particularly tragic to see this small red squirrel, much loved in its native United Kingdom, immortalized by Beatrix Potter, destroyed by this highly virulent strain. It is sadder still that a distant cousin is responsible (even inadvertently) for the annihilation.

Britain's response to these awful deaths is not a much better antidote - it amounts to a different kind of pox. One called fear.

Officials have been calling for some time for the trapping, killing and otherwise wiping-out of the grey population.


There have been epidemics of human diseases in the past, ones that will go unnamed here, but these diseases too have been tied to certain populations of people, with hatred, fear, violence and other means also considered as antidotes, or measures of prevention.

Whether the violence suggested is directed at a human or an animal target it is still, unquestionably, genocide.

Can't science find a better way?

The nuisance factor

Much is made, in newspaper articles and even in general discussion, about squirrels' ability to be exactly where they aren't wanted. In attics. Raiding bird-feeders. In the middle of a busy street. At the back door, begging.

It is socially acceptable, sanctioned and at times even encouraged to make them targets of our hostility or - worse. We can only feel sorry for the person who has never felt the rush of having been acknowledged, or even recognized as a sucker, by a squirrel accustomed to seeing them with a few tasty handouts in the garden or the park. These are the same people who have likely elevated Road Rage to one of the major martial arts.

Imagine for a moment, though, if we were to harness this nuisance-avoidance trait that is so uniquely human, and use it for more practical purposes: Consider, if you will, the workplace nuisance: There is the oversolicitous or overbearing boss, the unendingly chatty or curious colleague, even the phone, possessed by a perpetual motion ringtone that will not stop ringing? Imagine the consumer market, then, for some of these must-have products: A boss-sized Hav-a-Hart "humane" trap (or leg-hold trap for the seriously obnoxious). How about predator-proof work stations that throw the interloper off balance by being counterweighted (like some so-called squirrel-proof bird feeders). Imagine seeing your supervisor one moment coming over to badger you, and in an instant, seeing him or her flung across the room, airborne, and not sure why.

Let's not forget the curious colleague who has come to peck at your luncheon sandwich or salad. That's nothing a little hot pepper won't cure. (This well-touted garden remedy is presumably the last resort before folks resort to fox urine, but this alternate method doesn't lend itself readily to inclusion in a bag lunch.)

There is a world of potential in this new market. While some choose to make their money repelling squirrels, and encouraging others to do so (by purchasing their products, of course), I say: Let's go after the real nuisance culprits. They walk on two legs, and they are around us - everywhere.

Back to reality

The work week resumed this morning with about 10 to 15 squirrels at the back door, waiting to devour handout pecans and all of my attention. There were also the pre-release squirrels out back in the outdoor pen to be tended to, and the few remaining ready-to-go young adults in their cages indoors.

And about 70 miles east of here, in a small veterinary hospital on Long Island's East End, a small hit-by-car squirrel succumbed overnight to his injuries. We'd called him Shelter Island Shelly when we found him yesterday during a bicycling trip on beautiful Shelter Island, a place of peace, redolent with blooming primrose.



But I will not be returning, as planned, to pick him up later this week to care for him until his release back into the wild. His journey is over.

We surely tried. There were four of us yesterday who came upon him lying on the pavement, and each one did our part. And even as we held his body in our arms, we also cradled his fragile existence. If intention alone were all that was necessary in this world to save any life, the odds were unquestionably in his favor.

In the end, there were forces greater and more powerful than our own that held his life too.

Meanwhile, there are still squirrels at the back door awaiting - no, demanding- the next round of handouts. And there are pre-release squirrels still in my care waiting to get on with their lives in the next few weeks.

And they will. We do what we can, but we can only do that - nothing more.

Shelter Island Shelly

This is not a blog post so much as it is a prayer. It is being written for a small squirrel found lying in the road bed on an otherwise peaceful, quiet street on a place called Shelter Island, a countrified refuge that fits neatly between the North and South Forks of Long Island.

There were four of us today, on a visit together to Shelter Island, who found this squirrel. It was during a midweek break that was a gift for ourselves, a day of cycling and sight-seeing, an oasis of time we had carved out from our various trying work schedules.

We saw birds, we saw houses, we saw shrubs, flowers and even cacti. It wasn't even clear to me that there would even be squirrels to see at all on Shelter Island. It is, after all, an island. And squirrels can only swim so far from the suburban mainland.

But as we rode, each hopping, scampering, climbing squirrel in sequence caught our eye. We even remarked on the blessed absence of roadkill. And then we saw the small body lying still in the road. But no, not completely still. The squirrel was breathing. And there was a little blood around the nose, which suggested a fall or recent impact of some kind with a passing vehicle.

From that point forward there was no debate among ourselves: We wrapped the squirrel in one of the pullovers we had been carrying on this chilly day, and using cell-phones and GPS (thank you, Age of the Internet), rode off with the little patient as passenger in a basket of one of the two rented bicycles. When we lost our way - racing against the clock now, and against a roadmap we didn't really know - a kind man driving a pickup truck from a local masonry company responded to our distress when we flagged him down: He drove the four of us, our bicycles, and the wounded squirrel back to the right side of down, delivering us right to the door of the bike shop, and then we caught the ferry just in time to bring the squirrel to the one area vet that was still open.

We decided on the name Shelter Island Shelly. That is probably the only say we may have in his fate, however. The vet is holding him overnight on the mainland, after confirming there might be neurologic damage. I am to check with her tomorrow.

There is something about being in the right place at the right time. We were originally planning to make this trip on another day. On our way back, we were thinking of turning left, and back tracking along a familiar return route to town, rather than opting for the road that led us to the squirrel. And then the sympathetic soul in the truck came along. And the animal hospital didn't close until 6:30 - we arrived about 10 minutes before closing time.

I don't know if Shelter Island Shelly will recover but at least for tonight, I know this small animal won't be left for dead on a beautiful country road as the night turns cold.

"I Pledge Allegiance To The Nest"

In Port Huron, Michigan, just outside Detroit, Mount Hope Cemetery administrators are keeping watch over a very different kind of grave robber.

This is no dance macabre, evoking black-cloaked perpetrators involved in midnight mausoleum break-ins and coffin crackings: In fact if anything is being cracked in between these wanton acts of daylight thievery, it is likely a few pounds of hard-shelled walnuts.


Indeed, the tiny culprit has been caught - almost - grey-handed: An eastern grey squirrel was sighted swiping American flags from the final resting places of military veterans in that Detroit-area cemetery. The squirrel was then seen spiriting the flags off to the treetops where the banners became part of high-flying nests for the next generation of bushytails. Old Glory, it seems, is a perfect size for bedding that cradles good old American newborn squirrels.

Could this be nothing more than an overt act of patriotism by these small natives of American soil? For all we know, the births of their litters could be greeted by a woodland version of Bruce Springsteen's "Born in the U.S.A."

Understandably, the veterans' families and the cemetery administration are bound to be somewhat upset. Squirrels, they must be thinking, should stick to raiding birdfeeders and not graves.

But the squirrels are not desecrating these final resting places, and they mean the veterans no disrespect. Besides, if we are often exhorted to fly our flag high and with pride, it could soar no higher than in those very treetops.

Squirrels show their colors

It has been a weekend of red, white and blue throughout most of the U.S., as these three days focus Americans' hearts and minds on the celebration of Memorial Day (formerly known as Decoration Day), a time to honor those who've given service to our country.

In Brevard, North Carolina, however, the colors of celebration are strictly white, white and white: May 23 and May 24 mark the city's sixth annual White Squirrel Festival, a time for showcasing music talent, athletic accomplishment, and general all-around cleverness: White squirrel photo contests and white squirrel feeder-building contests are among the challenges offered against the backdrop of this popular music festival.


Brevard pledges allegiance to its white squirrels, and that love is clearly unflagging.

To celebrate squirrels at the same time the nation celebrates the bravery and the sacrifice of our military may seem a bit of a reach but, on second glance, it is actually quite proper: Memorial Day is a time for unity, for community and for good times - and for being glad we all share in the freedom of expression that spills over into our music and crafts and our everyday activities.

Clearly that thrives in the heart of Brevard and throughout all our hearts in the rest of our nation.

The poetry of squirrels

There is a fine cadence, a discernible rhythm and, to some extent, even a bit of rhyme to the way squirrels glide through the wild. There's no need to have a well-tuned ear to hear the harmony between squirrels and their trees.

The release of young squirrels back into the woods, after a winter period spent in captive rehabilitation, constitutes a higher order of poetry. It is not the poetry of simple discovery but, in this instance, rediscovery. "Aha," it says, "this is what I was born to do."


Early this morning, we released two of the four young eastern grey squirrels from one of our rehabilitated groups (the next two will be released, I hope, tomorrow). We took them into a beautiful thickly wooded park, opened the hatch and thus said, without words, "welcome home." My hope is that they are quickly becoming the newest rhyming couplet in nature.

Upon my return, I was greeted with some squirrel poetry - the written kind - that also does the species proud. Rachel Fox, an English writer living in Scotland, has penned this fitting tribute to the fleet-footed and, sadly, imperiled little gems of that nation - the red squirrel - and was moved to write these verses after one crossed her path. I share it here, with her kind permission:

It might be about squirrels
(by Rachel Fox)

So loved and treasured
Little red squirrel
So quick and bright
Like a burning jewel in the pine

Your colour is inescapable
Your appeal unmistakeable
Your fate more like debatable

July 4th, in the middle of May

The red, white and blue of Independence Day is still a few weeks off. Any glance at the calendar will reaffirm the fact that firecracker aficionadoes are going to have to hang onto their incendiary devices for a little while longer.

But the grey and white of the "other" independence day is only a few days off. Four squirrels, overwintered in the outdoor pen since early autumn, are preparing for a new life of freedom in the woods. The rescuer of two of them - two little males - named all four when we paired them with an orphaned brother and sister, creating a family of 6- and 7-week-old juvenile squirrels last year. The rescuer dubbed them Carmine, Francis, Vito and Violetta. Good names, a bit operatic yes, but even as operatic names, they are true to the drama of this quartet's rescue and ultimate survival.

Weather permitting, that drama will play out later this week (or perhaps early next week) as the stage of their lives moves to a leafier, tree-filled and cageless venue.

There will be no firecrackers going off, just a quiet celebration in their hearts. And yes, mine too.

Treetop twitter?

We self-satisfied humans like to take credit for inventing ever-new means of communication. "Twitter," the online microblogging sensation that's fast and friendly, allows us to indulge in semi-meaningful conversation with friends and strangers alike via short bursts of 140 characters or less.

Somewhere, I know, the squirrels are laughing at us all. They've been communicating in even shorter datastreams for thousands of years.

Humans twitter.
Squirrels chitter.

And they don't even need screen names (in their case, tree names). They don't need Internet service providers, laptops, netbooks, PDAs or even desktop computers with flat-panel screens. When they want to spread the news of the day, or get up close and personal, squirrels stamp their feet, chatter their teeth and flick their tails.

And that, to a squirrel, says it all.

Meanwhile, we humans are busy posting "tweets" and updating our status on Facebook. Not a bad preoccupation for any of us, by the way.

But ask a squirrel to tweet and you're likely to get beaned on the head with an acorn.

Who's the more evolved life form here? If you can tell me in 140 characters or less, or by stamping your feet and chittering, you may already know.

Statues raise the stature of squirrels

Irish sculptor Barry Wrafter had been trying to give clarity and form to Britain's tension between the native red and interloper grey squirrels in a big way.

A very big way: Working on commission, he crafted a grey squirrel that stands 8 feet tall, and its rival red somewhat fewer feet in height. He dubbed the duo "Squirrel Quarrel," to dramatize the native reds' struggle against the encroaching Eastern Greys.

Both squirrels, however, almost became victims of another sort. After the developer who'd commissioned the work pulled out of the deal, they found themselves displaced - a not-uncommon situation for squirrels of any size or stature - and they both were facing destruction (also a not-uncommon fate for unwanted rodents).

That is, until recently. The Irish Times recently reported these two mega-squirrels have become the beneficiaries of a bit of wildlife rescue that tops them all: The 8-foot rodent and his feisty counterpart have been purchased by a couple who own an estate in Cork. Rather than be demolished by their creator, they are going to find refuge in the wilds near a castle on the couple's grounds.

The "Squirrel Quarrel" has been resolved - at least for these two statues.

Britain's simmering rivalry in its treetops, however, may have a way to go before it can reach its own happy ending quite so handily.

A dose of daily genocide

A recent Associated Press story that received prominent play in Washingon State newspapers recently reported that the city's parks officials are detonating a propane-fired device to collapse the burrows of ground squirrels on the grounds of the Finch Arboretum. Officials consider these animals problematic because of destruction they are supposedly causing.

OK, let's get a few things straight here: People who visit the Finch Arboretum are nature-lovers, and supposedly so too are the folks operating the arboretum. Presumably the government stewards are themselves are respecters of all things wondrous and beautiful in nature, caretakers of the natural world who are intent on creating a kind of earth-centered cathedral that pays homage to what graces our planet.

I think not.

Enter the nuclear warhead. Or rather, enter what must seem to be the Armageddon Machine to the small creatures living underground in their world beneath Spokane. Their world is being blown to bits and they are being suffocated.

Those of us who remember the Cold War recall the "duck and cover" drills that were supposed to give us an elusive sense of security when The Bomb hit and we can only shudder at this scene. In truth, whether you ducked and covered - or not - there was nowhere to hide.

And those of us who don't remember living with the threat of the bomb from those days can still relate to the notion of sudden annihilation by some powerful nation somewhere. Simply for the crime of being on the planet and having an agenda that didn't agree with someone else's agenda.

Shame on the people of Spokane for allowing this.
And shame on anyone who continues to visit the Finch in the name of appreciating nature. Anyone who pays for an admission ticket to this place has the blood of this tiny nation of squirrels on their hands.