How Big Al Got His Name

As promised, the story of Big Al. He was the littlest that came to me, a title held until him by the precious Lawnmower Girl.

When you first get them you're not sure what really happened to them -- were they hurt by a fall from the nest or a scramble with a predator? Were they a runt of the litter, or born with some defect and the mother left them behind? Were they fed something by well meaning people who found them before they got them to us that unwittingly caused problems? It's hard to know, but you learn to look for signs, and often there are signs you can't read. You take the baby on and in my case, observe, call for advice, wake up 10 times a night to check on them, use available medicines if needed, and celebrate the victory of each gram gained and each day of healing until you have a rambunctious, bright eyed little critter, ready to go enjoy their life in the wild. This process has brought me such joy, even though I have paid a personal price -- which I'll write about at some point. For this post, I intend to share the joy... as that is what I had in abundance in rehabbing baby squirrels.

Besides being tiny when I first got him, he moved in s-l-o-w motion. I certainly expected this to mean he was weak. But I was quite AMAZED at the strength with which he held on to my thumb with both his little hairless paws. And that will to live is worth any lost sleep, and all that it took to get him well. Oh please click on any picture to see it bigger. I"m sorry it's a bit out of focus but I am not a great one handed picture taker.

His skin was kind of yellow, like my dad's (who was Mediterranean), and he was strong as a bull, even with his eyes closed and in a vulnerable state, which was exactly how I'd describe my dad in his last three years of his life (he had some neurological problems that did not allow him to open his eyes). And for some reason he had a thick lower lip, which became more pronounced when he was sucking down his milk. You guessed it, Dad did a little of that too.

My dad's name was Albert, and sometimes guys who dated his daughters would refer to him as Big AL, as he was quite intimidating back in the day. Perhaps because this one was so teeny, I thought Big AL was totally fitting.

When I picked him up from his little bed to bring him to the chair in which I fed him he would hunt around jerkily with his little nose, looking all over "mom" for the source of the milk. It just endeared me to the baby even more. Here is a little video of it. 



I just love seeing that again.

He had a sensitive digestive system that I worked hard to balance. He was not an easy eater. Though he clearly had an appetite, he often would not open his mouth when the syringe nipple was right at his lips. It was a real trick to get him to open up. Once he finally latched on, he'd try to swallow the whole thing, always straining toward it instead of just relaxing and settling in to nurse. And just as I did get him drinking -- by which time I was often contorted into some really painful position but was not going to move till he was done -- he'd inexplicably pull away from the nipple after only half a cc, then hunt wildly for it again!

I aimed for 3-4 cc's every 4 hours but he would only drink 2cc's -- at best. So I began feeding Al every two hours to compensate experimenting with different strengths of formula and temperatures to see if it would help. Nothing really did. *Sigh*

It was always tough, but eventually he'd have his fill and snuggle up in my hand, content. And I would feel relief and satisfaction -- for at least a few hours before starting all over again. This went on day after day but indeed, he put on weight. and the hair on his back began to grow, which looked different (as did the color on his nose) from the squirrels I'd been raising. His fur looked silky (see above pic) but was more coarse than soft like the others.  And I still couldn't explain the yellow skin.

After three days it dawned on me that he was yellow instead of pink because I had a Red or Fox Squirrel here. Sure enough his little forearms began to sprout reddish hair, followed by a little tuft of red on his chin. I had never had a Fox who was so young before ... and this is how you learn, lol.

Big Al made me better understand parents who love their good kids and the ones who cause trouble/heartache/incredible sacrifice. The good ones are, well--good. Easy to love. The ones who are tough you have to work harder with,. They may tax and vex you but you don't give up on them. And that makes you realize how much you love them too. Hopefully that love is felt and taken in. Every time I looked down at Big Al finally asleep in my hand, I hoped somehow, in his little squirrel way, he indeed felt loved.