On Tuesday, September 28 at 5 PM EST, Ron, came home from walking Winston, our Miniature Schnauzer. Ron was excited to show me some pictures he had taken. When I saw the pictures, my heart jumped back fifty (50) years. The pictures were of a baby squirrel that had fallen out of his nest. Of course, I had to go take a peak to see what condition this poor baby was in.
The squirrel appeared to be OK – the eyes were open, but it was too young to walk as it was just crawling around in the grass. I told Ron that I wanted to bring it into the house because the yard that the tree was in, the neighbors had a Yellow Lab. All I could think of was the poor baby squirrel was going to get eaten. Of course, Ron was shaking his head, but I continued.
We walked back to our house and got a box and a towel and returned – the baby squirrel was still there. I picked up the baby squirrel with the towel and that is when the squeaking began. Ron said he saw movement in the trees — the Mother was coming to the rescue. So, I put the squirrel back on the ground and we left. I don’t know if the Mother picked up the baby or left it there. I don’t want to know.
I guess you want to know why my heart jumped back those 50 years. I can’t even remember how old I was — somewhere between 13-16 years old. A grey squirrel fell out of a tree in our yard. This squirrel was smaller than the pictures Ron took — I couldn’t leave it outside with winter coming.
We had a large house which had a screen-in porch on the second floor. It actually was a “sleeping porch” with three beds with springs. I named my new pet “Chip”. Black and White pictures below are of him in the grass and tree in our yard. I had to bottle feed him, clean the porch, play with him, and later provide him with nuts to eat. As he got older, I had to teach him how to climb a tree. No one else in my family got near him. Chip would climb up my leg (of course, I had jeans on) and sit on my shoulder.
One afternoon while my Parents were not home, my brother, Billy, opened up the porch door and must have gone into the porch. We don’t know what happened, but Chip jumped up and bit his finger and wouldn’t let go. Billy was crying, screaming, & running around in my Parent’s bedroom. Blood was spitting everywhere. Finally, my sister got the Chip off his finger and I put him back outside onto the porch.
It wasn’t until my Father passed away in 1971, that I found out that Chip didn’t die of the cold as I was told, but that my Parents made the decision to have an autopsy to make sure Chip was not rabid. It was getting close to the end of the Quarantine period and Billy would have had to start getting those very painful Rabies Injections.
Now, you know the “Rest of the Story”.
The photographs could not be uploaded due to my Internet problems I have had for two days. Very Frustrating! They just don’t understand that I am trying to run a Business!