Three Blind Mice

That is what has been brought to me tonight, the first residents of my wild baby nursery since our return from Greece. They came all the way from the little town of Disputanta (pronounced, I learned, "Dis-pyu-TAN-na") where a man and his wife were hauling out Christmas decorations from an outdoor storage shed and found these babies nesting amid the garlands. They are so tiny I can't yet tell their sexes for sure, although I think we have two boys and a girl. They do have a little fur, but their eyes are still sealed shut.

They've had two feedings so far, the first on half-strength formula, the second on three-quarters strength. Next feeding will be full-strength; I hope their digestive systems can handle it. They only drink a few drops at a time and that fills them up.

So far, so good. As they were brought to me within three hours of their being found, they are in good shape, not at all dehydrated. They're strong, wiggly, and already afraid of being held.

Mice are among Demetrios' favorite animals, and I like rehabbing them because they're all grown up in four weeks or so.

But if they live, I suppose I may overwinter these. Let's hope.

If You Should Find a Baby Wild Animal

This is the season when such orphans are mostly found. Here's what to do if you come across one.

1.) Do not rescue it until/unless you are certain it really is an orphan or it really is in a hazardous situation (exposed to dogs, for example).

Bring your cats inside for a few days; walk your dog on a leash for a few days.

Mother deer leave their young unattended while they go off to feed, and only return at dusk. So that adorable fawn is probably fine. Leave it alone until the next day unless you see clear signs of injury or sickness. By the next day it ought to be hiding in a different spot.  If a fawn is starving, it is likely to follow you around, and then you know it needs help.

Mother cottontails also leave their young alone in the nest, returning only at dusk. Bunnies in the wild are only fed at dawn and dusk. Arrange some twigs or string in a pattern over the nest. If you find that pattern disturbed the next morning, you know the mother has been back.

A bunny as big as a baseball is already on its own, even though that's hard to believe.

2.) If you are sure an animal needs rescuing, pick it up, put it in a box with some old rags (not terrycloth towels, as tiny claws tend to become tangled in the loops of the fabric) and supply a little warmth. A strong lamp shining down on the creatures will do the trick, as will a heating pad set on LOW and put under only HALF the box (so the baby can crawl to the other side if overheated). Or you can halfway fill an old sock with uncooked rice, tie the end, and nuke it for 30-60 seconds in the microwave. Wrap the heat sock in several layers of rags and set it beside the orphan(s). You only want to supply about as much heat as the mother's warm tummy would.

3.) DO NOT FEED the babies anything or give them any water. Inexperienced people tend to choke babies this way. Especially do not give milk, as it gives most wild babies diarrhea, which is very dangerous for them. They need a special formula.

4.) Call your nearest wildlife rehabilitator. If you don't know the number, your vet almost certainly has it.  The Internet is also a handy tool for locating rehabbers.  It is in the best interest of the animal (s) - and your family - to let someone trained and licensed handle this job.

5.) In the Eastern U.S. and Canada, the following species are considered "rabies vector species", meaning the chance that they have or carry rabies is higher than in other species: fox, raccoon, groundhog, bat, skunk.

The rabies virus is carried in the saliva, so you do not have to be bitten to get it; you are at risk if you even get the saliva on your skin. Therefore, your first job, if you discover orphans of these species (or of any species, for that matter), is to protect yourself, your children, your neighbors, and your pets. Try to place a cardboard box or other secure, non-airtight container over the wild babies, weight it down with a brick or stone, and then call your county's animal control department to come get them. Animal control will take them to a rehabber who has been vaccinated against rabies.

Guard the babies while you are waiting, so no children, pets, or wild predators get to them.

If you absolutely have to handle a rabies vector species (for its own good, I mean, not to play with it or show it to people or anything like that) wear thick gloves, preferably with rubber kitchen gloves under them. WASH YOUR HANDS afterward, thoroughly.  Of course you do this after handling any animal, right?

Squirrels do NOT carry rabies. Not a single case has ever been reported. It can be induced in squirrels in the lab, but has never been seen in the wild.

Guidelines:

Animals old enough to threaten you are old enough to hurt you.  (Exception:  baby oppossums are all threat and display, but no bite.) 

Babies with eyes still sealed shut will almost never try to attack you.

A squirrel whose tail is already fluffy (bigger around than your thumb) is already capable of inflicting serious damage.

When a House is Not a Home (Or, Playing the Game)

Well, you know me [said my friend Beatrice], I couldn't bear the thought of catching that mouse in a spring trap and killing it. But no way could I have it in my house, either. So Jim and I rigged up a live trap in the living room, where we had seen the creature. First, we laid a thin square of cardboard on the floor. Then we propped up a glass mixing bowl, using a pencil. You know, eraser end holding the rim of the bowl, pointy end sticking into the cardboard. We used kite string to hang a piece of bread with peanut butter from the top of the pencil. The idea was, the mouse would tug at the string to get at the bait, the pencil would fall, the glass bowl would come down and trap the mouse.

And it worked! In the middle of the night we heard the glass bowl drop. We ran into the living room to find this little mouse running frantically around and around the inside perimeter of the bowl. All we had to do was carry it outside and dump the little guy into the garden.

But mice don't come singly, I said to Jim, they come in tribes, so we are going to have to keep doing this every night until we trap the whole lot.

The next night, we set up our live trap again, and sure enough, just as before, the bowl came crashing down, we ran to see the result, and a little mouse was again scurrying around and around inside the bowl.

This went on for 13 nights, until on the 14th night, the mouse inside the bowl was sitting there licking the last of his supper off his whiskers and waiting calmly to be put back outside. That's when we realized we'd been feeding the same mouse, night after night!

So this time we waited 'til morning, and then we drove the mouse to the other side of town to let it go.

I've had similar experiences with wild animals returning. Thirty years ago, I got a call from an angry neighbor demanding I should come over to her house and retrieve my damn squirrel. She had been carrying groceries into her house when, without her noticing, the squirrel followed her in. Then as she was unloading the bags, the squirrel climbed up the back of her leg. When she screamed and flailed, the squirrel climbed up her living room draperies, where he was now sitting and chattering.

Once a raccoon got away from me about three days before he was to have been released out in the country. He was the most beautiful raccoon I have ever seen because he was almost solid black, a gorgeous little fluff-ball, when he first came to me, peering up at me from large black eyes as he noisily drank from his bottle.

Several months later, I carried my arthritic little pocket-sized poodle outside one morning to do his duty, then picked him up to bring him back indoors, and just inside the door to the screened porch I stopped and gasped. The black raccoon, now a forty-pounder, was asleep on the table whereon he had been raised, where his nest box and then his first cage had sat. I had walked right past him, unawares, on my way out.

He opened one eye and looked at me.

I wasn't about to go past him again, that close. Poodle and I went around to the front door.

Fortunately, the raccoon ambled away come dark, and I haven't seen him again.

I'm sure you already know the moral of all these stories.

Two Amazing, Short Videos

If you like wonderful animal clips, here's a most enjoyable one.  Very cute.  It begins with a baby moose discovering someone's backyard sprinkler and then things just keep getting better after that. 
Click here.

And then click here for a really heartwarming video, featuring a remarkable little girl making a 911 call for her father.

The Bravest Mouse of All

A mouse stealing a leopard's Lunch.... Are you serious?

This extraordinary scene was captured by 19-year-old photography student Casey Gutteridge at the Santago Rare Leopard Project in Hertfordshire, England. The student, photographing the leopard for a course project, was astounded by the mouse's behavior.

Seemingly unaware of the beast towering over it, the tiny rodent grabbed at scraps of meat thrown into the African Leopard's enclosure. But instead of pouncing on the tiny intruder, the 12-year-old leopard Sheena kept her distance. After a few minutes she tried to nudge the mouse away with her nose, but the determined little guy kept chewing away until he was full.

Perhaps there's a fence we don't see here, but it kinda looks to me like the bravest photographer of them all, too.

Dog-napping

Or, How I Learned to Groom Poodles

Yes, well, I seem to be an old hand at stealing animals. (I prefer to call it rescuing them, thank you very much.) Well, not really. Despite my best intentions, I never managed actually to steal an animal. Okay, there was one time, but I ended up returning that puppy before he was even missed. Almost before. Alright, three days after...

But that’s another story. This story is about Toby, a black Toy Poodle who lived in my neighborhood many years ago. I wanted to steal him, but it didn't work out that way.

He used to run around loose in the neighborhood because his owners worked. And he was filthy. One day, I just couldn’t stand it anymore, and I brought him into my house and washed his hind quarters, which had his own turds caught in the hair. I cleaned him up – that part of him, anyway; he was still very dirty everywhere else – and then I took a pair of scissors and shortened the hair under his tail and along the back of his hind legs. What I had done wasn’t really noticeable, I told myself. And then I put the ragamuffin back outside. And that’s how it all started.

It was like an alcoholic taking that first drink and getting hooked. I couldn't stop. Next day, I combed out the bedraggled little pom-pom at the end of Toby’s tail. The day after that I trimmed it up just a bit, to make it into a nice, smooth sphere. I didn’t know much about grooming poodles, even though I had three of my own. But I did my best and it turned out fine. Toby still looked a mess, of course, because the rest of him was so tangled and dirt-encrusted.

And so it went from there. Every day, I’d steal Toby for an hour or so and work on a little patch of his hair. It was so badly matted, though, that I never got very far. It was way beyond my capabilities. He needed a professional job. I did manage to trim his very long claws. And poodles get this fine, loosely-rooted hair in their ears that needs pulling out from time to time, so I did that much. (Pulling it out doesn't hurt.) I cleaned the wax out of his ears.

Eventually, his family began to notice their dog’s gradually improving appearance. They made some inquiries, and apparently it didn’t take them long to identify the perpetrator. I apologized profusely for butting in to something that was not my business and then began, as gently as I could, probing to see whether they really wanted to keep such a high-maintenance dog.

They didn’t! If I could find a home for Toby, they would be very glad.

I bought him on the spot. Two hundred bucks, which is what they had paid for him. I had bought and sold enough poodles to know that was a virtual steal; he had good enough conformation to be worth about $300 (in those days).

The first thing I did was put an ad in the newspaper, because as I mentioned, With three poodles of my own, I couldn’t keep Toby.

The second thing I did was take him to a dog-grooming salon. I had hardly gotten home when the groomer telephoned me to say there was no way in the world she could comb out that hair; it would all have to come off. Toby would have to be shaved down to the skin.

Poor Toby! He was so ashamed of being naked! He began trying to hide and it took him several days to recover his dignity, along with a modicum of hair.

A couple of days later, I had a telephone call from Martha, one of the most interesting people I’ve ever had the privilege to meet, and she wanted Toby. I began telling her about all the brushing and clipping and cleaning a poodle needs, when she interrupted me. “I’m a dog groomer.”

Was that perfect, or what?

I took Toby to her house for her to have a look. And for us to get a look at her, as well.

Martha had her grooming studio in the back of her house, a large room with a vinyl floor, lots of cabinetry, plenty of counter top space, grooming tables, a laundry tub, driers on tall poles. And a sparrow named Alice. Alice was one of many orphaned birds Martha had raised, and Alice (for reasons I never ascertained) had the freedom of the house. But where Alice most liked to be was - in Martha’s hair! Yes. Martha had thick, tightly curled hair and is the only white woman I ever knew who sported an Afro. Well, that bird would fly onto her shoulder, hop up into her hair, turn herself around several times as if to wrap herself in a blonde blanket, and sit there while Martha worked. Or maybe the sparrow was sleeping in there, for all I know. You couldn't see her, to know what she was doing.

The birds outside the window, as if jealous, were beating their wings and beaks upon the glass. “Oh, they just want me to put out some more food for them,” she said. “Excuse me a moment.”

She loved Toby and Toby loved her. It was all perfect except that Martha didn’t have any money to buy Toby. She had recently found a stray horse, she explained. A stray horse?!?! Who finds stray horses? Martha does. The horse had been sick, injured and starved, and Martha had had him vetted and bandaged and medicated and cleaned up, and the horse was now living in the barn with her other horse. He had turned out to be a very beautiful creature, too, an excellent specimen of Quarter Horse. But she was having to pay for his room and board; hence, she had no money for the dog.

It was such a shame. She really was just the person I wanted for this dog... So we came to an arrangement. Martha agreed, in exchange for Toby, to teach me how to groom poodles. That would pretty quickly save me a lot more than the $200 I had paid for Toby.

So I came to work with Martha (and Alice, the sparrow) for a delightful and educational week. Martha got her dog, Toby got a new and happy home, his former owners got $200 and peace of mind, I became proficient at poodle clipping, and we all lived happily ever after.

"Just Call Me Snow White," She Said

Many thanks to Anam Cara and Elizabeth, both of whom sent me back these photos in a form my computer could use.

These show how various birds ate right out of the hand of a Richmond woman on Saturday, during our big snowfall. (We ended up, at our house, getting 13 inches.) The birds must have been very hungry!

Don't forget to feed your birds if you have any birdseed. Or bread, soaked in water first. Dry bread expands when wet. You wouldn't want that to happen inside some poor bird's stomach when it is already stuffed.  Or you can use dried cat or dog food, also soaked first until soft. Or you can use meal worms, as the woman in these pictures is doing.

Goldfinches

Tufted Titmouse

Bluebird

Goldfinch

More Goldfinches  (Not Yet in Breeding Colors!)

The Cat-nappers

This is actually the title of one of my favorite novels by P.G. Wodehouse, featuring Bertie Wooster and his valet, Jeeves. Bertie’s favorite Aunt has wagered a huge sum on a certain racehorse. This horse has stiff competition from a neighboring horse. The neighboring horse has formed a close bond with a certain barn cat, and has been known to go off its feed and mope and become frantic when the cat is missing. Hence, Bertie is assigned the task of kidnapping the cat, to disable the horse, to ensure Aunt Dahlia of winning her bet. Of course, this hare-brained scheme leads from one disaster to another, until only Jeeves can sort out the mess.

Below, however, is a different cat-napping story and it’s a true one. Happened some 12 years ago, by my best estimate.


Mom and Dad, Barbara and I were all sitting around the breakfast table at our parents’ house when Barbara, looking out the large front window, exclaimed, “Look at that! Now that’s an expensive cat to let wander loose. That’s about a four hundred dollar cat. Abyssinian. They’re great cats, because they act more like dogs.”

“Looks exactly like a mountain lion in miniature,” said Mom.

“Isn’t wearing a collar, even,” I said.

“And he isn’t neutered, either,” Barbara sighed. “Looks like we’d better rescue him.”

So, grabbing some of dry cat food, we went outdoors and began calling. “He-e-e-e-re, kitty-kitty-kitty!” But the cat just looked at us from under a flowering shrub. When we approached, he ran twenty yards away.

We spent the whole morning trying to lure or grab that cat, but he was too quick for us, and too frightened. We ended up leaving a big bowl of cat chow in the glassed-in little room we rather pretentiously called the solarium, and leaving the sliding door to the outside open. The plan was, when the cat became hungry enough, he’d come into the solarium, and one of us would sneak around to the outside and slide the door shut behind him.

“He must not even have an owner,” said Barbara. “Because if he did, you’d think he’d be used to people and not act so wild.”

“From now on, that’s my cat,” I said. “Mine. I’m going to take him home and name him Absalom and tame him.”

“You can’t just steal somebody’s purebred cat!” Dad grumbled, over his newspaper.

“Sure you can,” said Barbara. “He’s homeless.”

“You don’t know that!”

“Well, if he isn’t homeless he may as well be.”

“You at least gonna run an ad in the newspaper?”

“No way. The whole idea is, if this kitty even has an owner, to get it away from him! What kind of person lets a valuable cat run loose, without a collar and without being fixed? That's totally irresponsible!”

Dad just sighed and returned to his reading.

Barbara and I had turned our attention to our knitting projects when Mom came into the family room with a big smirk on her face and said, “Go look in the solarium.”

So we tiptoed up to the glass door to have a peek. It was a cat, alright, a big, long-haired, gray cat, feasting on the food in the bowl. I groaned. We chased him out of there. And closed the outside door.

After lunch, we all decided to take naps. It was mid-afternoon when I awoke, the last one to reassemble in the kitchen.

“Why don’t you check the solarium one more time?” Barbara suggested, after I had finished my milk and cookies.

“Naw, it’s been all day. I’m ready to give up.”

“Well, just go check! Go on!” And a certain something in her eyes told me I'd better do it.

And there he was, Absalom, in the solarium with all the doors shut, hiding under a bench that held potted plants.

“You caught him, you caught my cat!” I squealed. “Oh, thank you!”

“You can’t just take that cat,” said Dad. “That’s stealing.”

I didn’t care. It seemed perfectly justifiable to me, and more importantly, to Barbara, who after all, was a veterinarian. If she thought Absalom needed a home, then he did.

I squeezed into the solarium, opening the sliding door as little as possible and closing it quickly after me. I cornered the cat, picked him up, sat him in my lap, and began talking to him, softly. “Your name is going to be Absalom, and you and I are going to get along fine.” But not quite yet, we weren’t. He was crying and growling the whole time.

I can’t remember what it was I decided I needed to get from outside, but I do remember saying to Barbara, “Do NOT let that cat out of the solarium under any circumstances! I’ll be right back.”

I was behind the house, returning to it with whatever it was I needed, when I spotted the Abyssinian coming toward me along the brick walk. It had taken all day to catch him, and now here he was, loose again. I was so mad I lunged at the cat, snatching him off the ground before he even had time to realize I was after him. “That darned Barbara!” I said to myself, and I marched back into the house, the cat in my arms.

“I told you not to let him out!” I said angrily.

“I didn’t,” said Barbara.

“Well then how did he get out?”

“He didn’t. Look!” So I looked into the solarium, to find Absalom still there, where I had left him. The cat in my arms was a duplicate!

“Oh, no! Now what? I don’t think I can spring TWO cats on poor Demetrios. One’ll be hard enough for him to accept.”

“But they’re obviously a pair. You’ll just have to try to get Demetrios to see the light.”

“So now my daughters are going to steal TWO cats?" asked Dad.

That decided me. “Absolutely!” I said. “And this one is going to Abelard. Absalom and Abelard, the Abyssinians. I can’t believe my good fortune!”

“You can’t do that!” Dad growled.

The cats growled, too, as I sat with them in the solarium, crooning softly to them, petting them even more softly. They were doing their best to ignore me and comfort each other.

Then came the whistle. It was a long, loud, sharp whistle, as of someone calling a dog. Both cats stiffened. Two pairs of ears, which had been flattened, suddenly stood up straight. The whistle was repeated. The cats meowed loudly. There was no mistaking it; that whistle was for them.

Well, maybe not. Maybe they were just curious about the sound. I didn’t really believe that, though, so, leaving them in the solarium, I walked in the direction from which the whistle had come. In a minute, I was facing a man who looked as if he might have come from Abyssinia. Well, someplace near there, not the actual place. From Egypt, maybe, he was.

“You looking for a dog?” I asked.

“No. Two cats. Abyssinians.”

“Come look at the two I rescued today, who were wandering around loose, with no collars, and see if they’re yours.”

So he did and they were, and that was the end of our cat-napping plans.

At least he didn’t get away without a lecture from Barbara about keeping valuable cats indoors and having them neutered.

The man only partially heeded the words of the indignant veterinarian; he had the cats neutered. But for the next ten years or so, until our parents moved out of that house, the two Abyssinian cats were to be seen daily, exploring their yard and garden.

They were the first breed of cat little Madison, Barbara’s daughter, ever learned to recognize.

Bat Update

Battie neither ate nor drank anything last night, so far as I can tell, but went straight back to its business, which is to hibernate. Only sign of life is if you poke it, it squeaks. So I don't.

Dear Frances, next door, gave me a handful of meal worms. She keeps them all year 'round for the Bluebirds that come to her feeder. I'll put some of those in the cage tonight just in case Battie wakes up hungry.

P.S.) I think I'll name it Dingbat.

Little Brown Bat

That's the name of the species a young man brought me last night.

The man had walked into his apartment, switched on the lights, and found this little bat crawling along his floor, the cat stalking it from behind. He immediately called ARK (our wildlife rehab organization) and was directed to me.

Notice from the narrative that there is no chance the young man had any exposure, in case the bat may carry rabies. Careful questioning established that the cat not yet gotten to the poor little creature, either. And the cat is up to date on its shots anyway.

Next problem is that Little Brown Bats are not solitary creatures, but colonial. They roost together in biggish batches. So the man's attic is going to have to be inspected, as well as all the attics in that apartment complex, to see if that's where the colony is.

Meanwhile, this tiny, furry, warm mammal is supposed to be hibernating this time of year. It has awakened either from hunger or thirst. So I've put a jar lid in the bottom of its box, with water in it. Also, a fingerful of a high calorie diet supplement for it to eat. Hopefully it will then climb into the little cloth I've hung in its cage, and go back to sleep. If so, then I'll put the whole box in MY attic until Spring, checking daily, of course, to be sure Bat is still in hibernation.

Poor thing was so frightened when I lifted it out of the man's box and put it into a proper container that it squeaked and squeaked and squeaked. So I've left it alone for now, in a dark room with the door closed. Haven't even sexed it yet. Stay tuned.

A Tale I Can't Verify

Neither has Snopes been able to prove or disprove it.

So for whatever it's worth (a smile maybe?), here it is.

Could you imagine coming home from work to find this tiny creature napping on your couch with your dog? Guess who came home for dinner? It followed this beagle home, right through the doggy door This happened in Maryland recently. The owner came home to find the visitor had made himself right at home.

"Baby" Squirrels Report

Sunday afternoon we drove out into the country to pick up my three squirrels from Chris. Finally. She'd been babysitting them nearly two weeks. By Sunday, though, the roads were clear (although her long driveway was still hazardous) and the cold that had kept me mostly in bed over Christmas was mostly gone. So the time had come to resume my squirrel responsibilities.

The squirrels aren't exactly babies anymore; they're juveniles, and nearly full-grown.

They're weaned now, too. Chris said she put a bowl of formula in their cage the first day (when I went to Fort Wayne) and they never came out of their nest bag to eat it, so she said that was enough of that, and only put solids in afterward.

So from now on, it's going to be easy to take care of them. Lift their wire cage onto new sheets of newspaper every day (with a plastic sheet between newspaper and floor). Roll up the newspapers with the shells and scraps and smelly stuff and dispose of the whole package. Fill up their water bottle, put a fresh bowl of food in the cage, wash old bowl.

They won't go outdoors for a while yet, as it tends to be bitter cold at night. Need to acclimate them gradually. So they're back in the sunroom for now, which is toasty warm during the day and chilly or even rather cold at night.

Once they're outside, it will be easier in some ways. That is, the wire floor of the cage will be directly over the ground, so won't need daily cleaning. Just lift up the cage and shift it to a slightly different spot.

On the other hand, the water bottle will freeze and need replacing at least once a day. And of course there will be the winter weather to slog through.

I had spent most of a morning last year cutting a large hole in the top of their cage, which I cover with a sheet of metal, weighted down. The hole matches one in the bottom of another cage. I usually put the two holes together eventually, and with the help of several bungee cords, make a double-tall cage for the squirrels' winter quarters. But I don't do this until after the squirrels have gotten well accustomed to being in the smaller cage. That's frightening enough for them at first.

Well, Chris has very kindly mended that hole for me with a big square of hardcloth. She did a very thorough, professional job, too. Must've taken her an hour and a half, at least. Looks like it'll take me at least that long to undo it!

Squirrels are bouncing fearlessly all over this cage.

Animal Nursery Doings

Kittens

The four kittens had vet appointments today, during which I learned what I usually do from vets - that I've mis-sexed my critters.  Or rather, I just took someone else's word for it, who told me they were all girls.  So I didn't bother checking it out for myself.  (Why do I keep doing this?  When will I learn?)  Anyway, Miss Fortune is now Blackie, and Aurora is now Rory!  That also explains why they are the more affectionate cats; males usually are.

They had their temperatures taken and were wormed and had their first vaccinations and were tested for feline leukemia and HIV.  All tests negative. 

They are all very tame now, enjoying human company, and they've had exposure to children and dogs, too.  They're ready to be adopted, and tomorrow they go back to the agency whence they came. 

They're also quite a handful, and I'll be relieved when they're gone, even though I'll miss those purring furballs in my lap and climbing all over me.

Squirrels

The three squirrels are being ninnies.  They hide in their bag all day and all night.  They not only do not come out to find food, preferring to starve; they don't even come out to do their business; instead, they just soak the baby blanket I've put in there.  My idea was they should snuggle underneath it for warmth, not sit on top of a cold, wet, odiferous wad!  This keeps my washing machine busy.  And my sunroom a bit smelly.

They're well old enough to be weaned, and I've checked that they all do have bottom teeth of sufficient size.  (Top teeth they will have had for weeks now.)  So yesterday I just stopped bottle-feeding them.  Instead, I poured their formula into three little bowls (heavy ashtrays, really) and set those on the floor of their cage.  Nothing, no response.  They didn't even come out to investigate.

I hauled each baby out of the bag and dipped its nose in the warm formula, and they finally got the idea.  Of course they also stuck their front paws in it and got it all over themselves, necessitating a thorough wipe-off for each one with a warm, damp rag. 

And that's where we stand today.  I put out the formula, they still don't come out for it on their own.  I pull them out of their bag.  They drink and I clean up each of them.  I do not put them back in their nest bag, but on the cage floor.  If they want to go hide in their bag, they have to climb to get to it, at which they are, of course, very adept.

I also keep solid food in their cage - peanuts, dried corn, sunflower seeds, fresh veggies, Cheerios - and today one of them chewed on a peanut in its shell, but quit before discovering the treat inside.  (Peanuts are to squirrels as candy is to children.)  Tomorrow I'll break open several of them myself to show them what they're looking for. 

Thursday I take them back to Chris, who will keep them for me over the weekend, because I'm going out of town.  She's the one who raised them the first couple of weeks; maybe they'll do better for her, be less frightened. 

I get back Sunday night and pick up the squirrels again on Monday.

Not that there's any hurry; they will be with me all winter, but I was rather hoping to have them functioning on their own and outdoors by now.

More Babies

The Richmond Animal League has received from various "kill shelters" 36 puppies ranging in age from 4-8 weeks and has put out an SOS. So I've made them a deal. They promise to take back all 4 kittens next Thursday (the day before I leave town for the weekend) and I'll take 2 of the youngest puppies, possibly three if it's necessary to avoid having an odd one left over with no siblings. Which they will keep for me over the weekend I'm gone and then return to my care.

Puppies are harder than kittens because once they're up and running, they have to be taken outdoors to do their jobbies. (No, I will NOT paper-train any puppy in my house; I find that too disgusting.)

Do you suppose a puppy could be trained to use a litter box?

A Graduation

The three baby squirrels have now graduated from the cat carrier to a wire cage.  I laid a sheet of plastic in a corner of the sunroom, with newspaper on top of that, to put under the cage.  Inside the cage I put a hanging water bottle, a mineral block, some apple chunks and rodent chow and a nest bag.  The nest bag consists of three king-sized, flannel pillowcases each inside the other.  It's hung in a corner of the cage with three large safety pins, so it has a triangular opening.

When I put the babies in the cage, they just froze in place from fright.  So I put them in the nest bag, where they are currently hiding.  Hunger will bring them out in due course, because although their size is increasing, the amount I formula I give them is not.  Hunger and curiosity will prod them to explore their new surroundings.  Oh, I should mention, there's a cover over their cage, so they don't feel so out in the open and exposed.

After they've learned to be at home in their new cage for three days or so, I'll move the cage, with an even warmer nest bag, outdoors.  The weather here is still in the upper 60's most days, in the afternoons, at least, so the change shouldn't be much of a shock. 

The four little kittens went with me this morning for a visit next door, to the day care center.  There, under close superivision, the children held them and petted them and two small dogs thoroughly sniffed them.  I'll try to repeat this exercise tomorrow and a bit next week, so these furballs will become good pets for homes with dogs and children.

Their own graduation is near; they are now nearly 8 weeks old, and at 9 weeks, they'll be put up for adoption.  I hope somebody takes them home for Christmas.

Baby Squirrels

The squirrels have become used to me, and have made the association between me and food.  So now I put my hand in their box and they all compete to be the first to climb into it.  Nobody offers to bite anymore.

I don't even have to keep track anymore of which one/s I've fed; the hungry one/s will climb aboard eagerly.

Within a day or two, I shall remove them from the cat carrier in which they now reside and put them into a wire cage.  Easier to keep clean, and it will give them a chance to learn to climb. 

Kittens, meanwhile, have learned they can get over the barrier I've put at the kitchen door.  They don't much care to, but any day now I'm going to have a problem.  Guess I'll have to devise some sort of better top for their playpen.  They learned 3 days ago they could get out of the existing one.

Animal Nursery Report

The three little squirrels are still terrified of me. They were used to Chris, of course, and she has more kittens and cats than I have, so she must have had as much of their scent as I do, but that doesn't seem to be the overriding factor. It's MY scent that scares them. The smallest, the male, is the least scared. The largest, a female, has twice nipped me, without breaking the skin. Now I don't give her that opportunity any more. I still wrap their heads with a corner of the baby blanket so they can't see me, at least at first, until they are already hungrily sucking away. Then I let them see me. Then it seems okay.

They're munching on Cheerios, walnuts, broccoli, and carrots in between bottle feedings. The two smaller ones are taking 12 ccs of formula per feeding; the largest is taking 14-15.

The male is an aspirator. You have to feed him twice as slowly as his sisters, lest he get the formula up his nose and choke on it.

They're about a third of their adult size. Tails already rather fluffy.

Kittens are doing very well. We spent about an hour snuggling this morning, on the sofa in the sunroom.

That sunroom, by the way, is even more important to us in Winter than in Summer. Sitting in its bright light, especially during these shortest days of the year, takes away my winter blahs (Seasonal Affective Disorder) almost entirely. I hardly mind winter now, as long as I can be in that room for at least an hour or so each day.

Kittens!

My first litter of foster kittens arrived today. There are four of them, 4 weeks old, all female. One is all black and the others, all gray tabbies.

My assignment is to "socialize" the kittens, meaning, give them a lot of love and attention and get them used to being pets. Right now, they're afraid whenever I pick them up. We want them to purr every time a prospective owner picks them up.

Oh, yes, I can do that! What did my friend Angie call it? "Snuggle therapy."

And I am requested to name them. I don't know why, but the Richmond Animal League insists. Okay, the black one is Miss Fortune. The tabby twins will be Aurora and Ariel, and the tabby runt, Tinkerbell. Those were Sydney's recommendations (my four-and-a-half-year-old granddaughter).

Ah.....! My house is no longer catless.

Empty Nursery Syndrome

This is the time of year when wildlife rehabilitators like me stare longingly at our empty animal nurseries. So I was eager to help a couple of weeks ago when someone telephoned me to say she had a tiny baby squirrel, eyes still sealed shut, who'd been caught by a cat.

One of our volunteer transporters agreed to go to the woman's house to retrieve the squirrel and bring it to me. Once she had it in her car, she called me to report that it was close to death already.

"How big is it?" I asked.

"Very tiny," she said, with a sort of smirk in her voice.

"How tiny?" I asked, suspiciously.

"So tiny its umbilical stump is still attached. So tiny it's actually a mouse!"

Once in a while we get a baby mouse this time of year, but that's it. If we're lucky, it'll be a Deer Mouse. This one, a common house mouse, quickly died.

So today I volunteered with the Richmond Animal League to hand-feed newborn kittens and puppies. I hope they'll need my help and sooner rather than later.

Free to Good Home

Once upon a time, there was a 5-pound toy poodle named McLeod ("Cloud") who lived with us and was very much beloved. As he was so small, he would get cold outdoors in the winters, even though I kept his coat very long (and well-brushed). I knitted him SEVEN different sweaters.

Now, in cleaning out my attic, I've come across these sweaters. I have no use for them but cannot bear to throw them away.

If you know a very small dog who needs some dashing winter sweaters lovingly hand-knitted, please let me know. All I need is a mailing address.