Prozac, with fur
When I sat down at my computer, I intended to write about a new technology issue. This I attempted while a squirrel dangled upside down like a bat from my elbow. Moments earlier, this same squirrel had shoved a wet dish rag down the neck of my hoodie.
There was a hazelnut tucked into my slipper. A partially eaten cherry next to my mouse. A variety of food shrapnel littering the table and floor.
The room had been scrubbed and orderly just an hour before. It now looked like toddlers had an epic food fight with a vegan’s food processor remnants.
Yet I love that weird, little furry distraction. I love him so much.
For those who missed the introduction of Rudy Squirrelianni to our household, he arrived in late September after Don and I went to our storage unit and found the dehydrated baby squirrel, nearly dead, on the floor. While I had experience raising other wild creatures, a squirrel was new to me. I reached out to local rescuers, but all were at capacity. I was directed toward online resources and given encouragement that “squirrels are hardy little fellers,” especially when fully furred, as Rudy was, at about five weeks old.
And so, our adventure began, and what a fun and rewarding one it has been — albeit trying and exhausting and expensive.
The most challenging part of squirrel raising involves getting it to eat a healthy diet. Indoor squirrels are susceptible to a horribly painful and frequently fatal condition called metabolic bone disease, caused by poor diet (too many nuts, seeds and corn). In the wild, they consume such a variety that even if they eat nuts and seeds, they still get a balance from other foraging. Indoors, that isn’t the case.
Getting a squirrel to eat greens once he has tasted a nut is like getting a kid to eat broccoli when he believes M&Ms are an option. While most dogs are content to be served the same kibble day after day, squirrels are fickle and picky. They require variety — and a good bit of cunning.
Since there’s little Rudy likes better than devouring one of my houseplants and digging in the dirt, I now make fake plants by sticking bunches of the greens I want him to eat in a flowerpot, which I put on the windowsill. It’s messy but works.
My challenger might have a brain the size of a pea, but I’m counting this as a win.
It’s hard to calculate how much we’ve spent on food for this squirrel, or how much of what we’ve purchased has ended up going to waste. If he loves squash today, he’ll hate it tomorrow. Blueberries were such a hit the first day he tried them that he was gripping one in each hand. He has not touched them since.
We are fortunate to live near an international farmer’s market whose produce department is about the size of an entire Kroger. I visit regularly, armed with my list of squirrel-friendly foods, and fill my cart with small amounts of a wide variety, hoping something will please that persnickety guy. It’s a new experience for me — getting to load the conveyor belt at checkout with nothing but healthy foods. I enjoy playing the part of the supremely health-conscious shopper observers might believe me to be.
While searching online for information about raising a squirrel, I stumbled upon a community of people — an honest-to-goodness secret squirrel society — made up of rehabbers-by-choice and others by-chance. All are willing to make whatever weird adjustments to life that are necessary to raise these remarkable little creatures in the healthiest way possible, with the goal of eventually releasing them back into the wild. I also found a company called Henry’s Pets, which is a dream of a resource for someone who has found a squirrel.
As rewarding as Rudy has been, I understand why vets and rehabbers say they aren’t meant to be pets. Indoor squirrels can’t be kept caged 24 hours a day. They require at least six hours daily out of their cages to exercise; if not, they will develop both physical and personality issues.
Although Rudy’s cage was large enough for both me and our dog, a large Shepherd mix, to fit inside at the same time (don’t ask how we know this), we installed a screen door between our kitchen and my home office/laundry room/workshop, likely making us among the few people in history to install a screen door inside a house to keep a squirrel in versus out.
Initially, we did this so Rudy could enjoy more time out of his cage without having free reign of the house, but this little guy is so well-behaved that ever since the door was installed, he’s not spent another night in his cage. He’s never chewed a cord or cable, never destroyed furniture or décor. He has big pans of yard dirt to dig in and an abundance of large tree branches to jump on and chew. He sleeps atop an antique wardrobe where he’s built an impressive nest, and puts himself to bed shortly after dark every night.
His energy can be exhausting at times, but then he’ll force himself into your hands and stare into your eyes as you pet him, content to stay there for as long as you’ll scratch.
These are trying times, but it’s impossible to be sad when Rudy’s nearby.
He’s like Prozac, with fur.
