Two Photos of Earl and All About Her--July 2022

       

My Earl

Earl was a female flying squirrel.  Native to Florida, she was brought into the Sanctuary because of an injury.  I think that she spent most of her early life with a family of six or so others in a very small display section of the Sanctuary gift shop.  I assume that she was unable to be released—or given up to a care center with people who were better able to raise flying squirrels. 

       

By the time that I was an experienced volunteer, she had been hidden away in a cage placed in the hospital.  I’ve written and talked about the steps I took to give him exercise time and a more complete quality of life.  It came to a point where the people in the hospital had to force feed a raptor who was being prepared to regain enough strength to be released—unfortunately they chose to do this next to Earl’s cage. 

I pointed out that Earl must be terrified by the noises the bird made as it screeched between bites.  No one there even considered the situation they were creating for Earl.  She was having to endure the calls from one of the birds most able to catch and eat her.

This began my efforts to move Earl to my own home. I reminded the staff that no one was interacting (except to feed her treats) with her except me.  I had a "pet free” home with plenty of space for evening exercise sessions.  She had no records that anyone bothered to find and update.  She was so comfortable with me that I could put her between two shirts tucked in at my waist while I tended to the other animals, did dishes, folded laundry and cleaned.  She mostly slept in the lower hollow of my back.  I would reach back and rub her through the outer layer of shirt. 

She would sometimes wake and come to peek out beneath my chin at the world moving by.  

Earl was, essentially, mine except for where she lived at night.  

Employee turnover was incredibly quick (most stayed less than a year because of low pay, high stress, and run down facilities).  The hospital staff was no different—new “directors” of the hospital came and went.  I had been there longer than most of the staff—and so I carried on with the routine of physical events before the director was settled and could decide what, where and when, she wanted things done. I’m sure that was an irritating feeling—having duties done without their direction.

I argued with the most recent director about quality of life, purpose of the hospital, Earl’s health and vitality.

Before that director left, she let me take him.  The saving grace was that since Earl had no records, she couldn’t be in the hospital.

I immediately took her to a wild life specialist and discovered that she had an enlarged heart.  I already knew that she was over weight. 

The time I had with Earl was short, but she remains with me: her warm, soft body as she fell asleep in my hands, the tiny scratches from repeated trips up my bare arms, her growling-sharp call when she was upset.  Most of all, I remember her amazing ability to climb and fly over so many things in our home—after which she would find and return to me. 

Only when I have cradled my own three children—been their main source of attention, comfort and food—have I been able to feel so attached to something so small.