Last night, I came home with three baby squirrels. Mine are older than the one in the picture.Their eyes are open but they are still mighty small. I feed them four times a day. I guess you might call me a foster mom. Here's another poem from Howard Norman's Swampee Cree Indian poems. On my top ten list of all time favorite books but long out of print.
One time I wished myself in love.
I was the little squirrel
with dark stripes.
I climbed shaky limbs with fruit for her.
I even swam with the moon on the water
to reach her.
That was a time little troubled me.
I worked all day to gather food
and watched her sleep all night.
It is not the same way now
but my heart still sings
when I hear her
over the leaves.
Squirrels are such adorable things, so much personality! Bless you for being willing to take over the care of God's special creatures.
ReplyDeleteI once found a squirrel baby who's eyes were still closed. It was around 10:00 pretty dark outside. I was upstairs getting ready for bed when I heard a frantic whistling. It would happen every time a car would go by. So I whistled back--something immediately replied.
ReplyDeleteI went outside, and there was Samson the Cat sneaking around the yard. I whistled, something whistled back. Samson seemed VERY interested, so I shooshed him away.
I was standing beneath the fir tree next to the road. I whistled again, and there next to my feet was that baby squirrel.
I didn't know if he would live or not, so I put him in a box with a towel-wrapped hot water bottle.
The next morning he was still alive, and his eyes were open. Yep, you guessed it, he thought I was his mommy.
We took the little fellow to a wildlife rehab center near here, and as far as I know he made it to adulthood.
I always felt honored to have saved such a darling little creature.
Your picture is absolutely dear, and it fills my eyes.
Oh, by the way, this poem is BEAUTIFUL! May I borrow it? Did I tell you I am 1/16th Native American and proud of it? (grin)
ReplyDeleteAww, I'm so glad your caring for them!
ReplyDelete