A Little Gray Squirrel

Gray squirrels are everywhere in upstate New York where I lived.  They invade bird feeders, bury acorns all over the lawn, dive across the road in front of on-coming vehicles.  They tease the dog who strains at his leash to get a taste of that fuzzy flicking tail.  They seem to know exactly how far the leash allows the dog to progress forward, or if the dog is loose,
exactly how fast he needs to run to stay just ahead of the frantic dog in order to reach the tree and safety.  Gray squirrels are often considered pests.
But Gray squirrels are cute.  Their antics are always entertaining as they attempt to navigate all attempted efforts
to keep them from emptying the bird feeder.  I guess it depends whether you have spent a fortune on seed for BIRDS, or if you just like watching clever, intelligent critters at work on a frosty winter day, how you see them.
This day was early Spring.  Loggers were trying to get the last truckload of logs out before the roadways in the forest became too muddy to negotiate.  One last large tree was felled when a
middle-aged, long time man of the woods approached  with his
chain saw to cut  sections for loading onto the waiting flat bed 
lumber truck.  He spotted a large hole near the top, and peering in, he saw a mound of gray fur.  Putting on his heavy leather glove he reached cautiously inside and withdrew a tiny
infant gray squirrel.  This was certainly not the first time this had happened.  It was a fairly common occurrence. The loggers usually just set such a one aside and left it , possibly a meal for the next predator to come along.  Well that's nature, isn't it?
For some reason unknown to him, this time the logger felt sorry for the tiny mite who had lost her home and her mother. 
 He emptied his black dome-shaped lunch box, dropped in some dry leaves from the ruined nest and placed the baby inside.  When his work day ended the logger stopped on his way home at a local veterinarian's office.  The girl at the desk said No, they did not take wild animals; however, she had the number for a wildlife rehabilitator in the area.  So she called me.  I had a free cage.  Yes I was home and would be happy to accept the infant into my care.
The little squirrel arrived hungry.  I fixed a warm bottle, made for kittens, with Kitten Milk Replacer.  Then I took her gently in my lap and letting her lie on her belly, I pressed the nipple to her mouth.  We humans tend to want to hold baby animals that we bottle feed upside down as we would one of our own infants.  Baby animals must be fed in their normal feeding position, in this case lying on the tummy to nurse.  I was amazed how quickly the squirrel recognized the bottle as the source of sustenance.  It did not feel like her mother.  It did not smell like her mother.  The milk probably did not taste exactly like her mother's milk.  Very soon her miniature claws gripped the sides of the bottle and she sucked until her belly
had a soft roundness and she was satisfied.  
How rapidly rodents mature!  (Yes squirrels are rodents, though we don't usually think of them that way.)  This baby dwelt in her cage, soon eating seeds and fruit pieces, not needing to be handled much.  I kept her away from my very curious dog and my much too interested cat not only for her safety, but I did not want her to become too familiar with the scent of either as that could endanger her when she returned to the wild.  
During this time my friend, Mary, came to visit.  Mary loves animals.  Mary is also a hunter.  Mary is fond of squirrel as food.  When she saw the now teen-age squirrel she said, " Let her get a bit more growth and she will be a good pot pie!"  I THINK she was joking.  The squirrel; however, officially became known as "Potpie."
Potpie matured.  Her cage was moved to my second story porch.  I began leaving her door open during the day and scattering her nuts and seeds around the porch, hiding some beneath leaves.  She scooted about the screened porch during
 the day, returning to her nest in the cage at dusk.  One lovely
 summer day I propped open the porch door, allowing Potpie access to the big world outside.  She dashed partway down the  steps, then hopped back inside.  Each time she went a bit further.  Finally she made it all the way to the ground.  Then she returned to her nest for the night.  The next day she ventured further.  Then came the day she went into the woods behind my house.  She discovered the huge old tree with several large holes courtesy of the Pileated Woodpecker who
dwelt nearby.  Selecting one of the holes, she began to pack in the dry leaves and moss she carried up from the forest floor.
That night she returned to the porch to eat, but did not stay.
As cold weather approached she came for food less and less often.  I witnessed her scurrying through the trees in back
carrying acorns or burying them in my yard.  Snow came.  I saw her hardly ever.  I hoped she had found all she needed to survive without the skills her mother would have taught her.
Spring burst forth once more.  I saw many squirrels bustling
about.  None came near the porch until one day, this lovely gray squirrel, dressed in a fluffy pearl gray coat came and sat for a moment on the porch railing.  She chattered at something on the ground.  Shortly she was joined by a very young male squirrel baby.  He sat wide-eyed, cautious, close by his mother's side.  Potpie had not only survived, she had given birth to a son.  Though he never became tame, which is how it should be, and though I never fed nor attempted to touch Potpie, she often brought her son to the porch that summer.
So naturally, I had to give him a name.  I named that boy, Stew!