And now, a few things about Skwrrls

Relationship status: It's COMPLICATED!

Lately I have been spending more time than you might expect with squirrels. Especially since I brought home three squirrels that I helped raise from the hairless newts that they were when they were found, abandoned, (and brought to the California Wildlife Center) to the large and goofy teen creatures that currently reside in my yard. Though I admit it is not an especially cozy relationship, I do think of them as my own personal squirrels. I look forward to seeing them every day. I am also aware that these feelings are not particularly mutual since they do not seem the least bit interested in me unless I am carrying nuts. (I am always carrying nuts.)

The cup was a present from the husband.

The reason that the transactional nature of our relationship does not bother me much is because they are hilarious. Everything they do is funny. Squirrels are the comedians of the small to medium sized rodent world. Even their Wikipedia page is funny: “During hot periods, squirrels have been documented to sploot, or lay their stomachs down on cool surfaces.” Yes! According to Wikipedia, squirrels not only SPLOOT, but have been DOCUMENTED doing so! That is almost certainly the funniest thing that has ever been written on Wikipedia about a member of the small to medium sized rodent category.

The other night I watched a PBS special about squirrels and learned that they can keep track of up to NINE THOUSAND NUTS they have buried. I have four squirrels total so that may mean my front yard contains 36,000 buried nuts! And I for one could not be more pleased about it. I love watching them take some of the nuts I leave for them and run off quickly to bury them, sometimes in one of my potted plants. It appears that they do not have a very good grasp of the difference between a good and a bad nut hiding place, as this video of a squirrel trying earnestly to bury a nut on the back of a dog clearly demonstrates.

My heightened connection with squirrels started about 6 or 7 years ago when I began volunteering at the California Wildlife Center.

As the squirrels get older, their diet changes.

The squirrel teens, like all teens, seem to ignore the fruit and vegetable compote, even though it looks like a delicious spa meal from a restaurant in Beverly Hills. But that does not impress the young squirrels, who are also are not too crazy about the monkey biscuits. As far as I am concerned, that is probably a good thing because handing monkey biscuits out to squirrels always makes me worry that somewhere there are sad, perplexed, biscuit-deprived monkeys, searching for answers.

This year I decided to step my squirrel game up even further by working a weekly shift at the home of Glenn, a woman whose love for squirrels has caused her to dedicate an entire bedroom in her house to large cages customized with branches and hammocks for baby squirrels.

During the squirrel procreation months (early spring AND early fall) Glenn typically cares for between 25 to 30 tiny and utterly helpless ‘neo-nates.’ They require round the clock care. I took this video of one right before I fed them. (That is the pronoun most favored by the neo-nates.)

In the nest, the mother squirrel feeds them at least four (and maybe 5) times a day. So Glenn, a kind-hearted squirrel martyr if there ever was one, gets up in the middle of the night to administer them their first feeding. By the time I show up at 9 A.M. they are ready for their second breakfast, after which the slightly older, and much hairier three-timers’ get their first one.

(Answer to your next question: Why is there paint on his head?)

This guy hasn’t opened his eyes yet, but already has a lovely head of hair. It is a temporary condition, though I have met a lot of male humans who call that a sensible way to live.

Have I worn you out with this squirrel stuff yet? Because if I have… TOO BAD! THERE’S MORE! Starting with a fun factoid that perhaps you will wish I had kept to myself: after meal time, a bit of squirrel potty training is required for the neo-nates whose eyes are still closed. This means that it is necessary to “stimulate ‘ them with a cue-tip in order to make them pee and poo. In a natural setting, the mother squirrel does the honors with her tongue. Why nature decided that was a good way to jump-start a baby squirrel’s digestive system is a question I am not equipped to answer (except to say that, along with the wonders, nature has a lot of bad ideas. See also: the food chain, matricide, infanticide.) (And before you go getting completely grossed out, the poo of which we now speak is the size of about 1/8th of a single grain of rice. If any poo can ever be considered adorable, this would be a candidate.) On the bright side, as soon as the kids open their eyes, this cue-tip step becomes unnecessary. From that moment on, squirrels need no help at all with their pooping ever again. In fact, they are now and forever more consummate poop masters, even though their meals are still formula from a syringe for a couple of weeks.

One day I was feeling so fond of these goofballs that I asked squirrel-master Glenn whether she had ever ended up keeping one as a pet. I mean, I have obviously seen all those You Tube videos of people with their “pet squirrels”. But Glenn’s answer surprised me. “No,” she said, “You can train them to some extent. But squirrels don’t give back.” And I’m fine with that. There is nothing I really want from my personal squirrels except to just watch their ridiculously intense staring and their incredibly frantic movements. And of course, I am already looking forward to SPLOOT season.

Which brings me back to my yard full of energetic teenaged squirrels, experiencing the uncaged life for the first time.

This was taken the actual moment that this juvenile California gray squirrel was seeing a cage-free world for the first time. He is not just deceptively low-key about it, he is showing no facial expressions at all, never betraying the fact that a few seconds later, he would already know how to run up to the top of a tree and disappear.

Now that I have bestowed upon myself the nickname ‘The Jane Goodall of Squirrels’, I feel qualified to note how deficient they seem to be the arena of facial expressions. They do, however, compensate for this short-coming by making sure that everything else in their performative repertoire is fine-tuned to frantic and intense. They never fail to remind me of my friend the comedian Betsy Salkind, the only human to truly capture, in minute detail, that combination of the purposeful yet frenzied demeanor that is a squirrel’s calling card. Here is a video of Betsy’s IMPECCABLE squirrel impression, which is exacting right down to that strange turning-of-the-nut-inspection move that every squirrel feels he must do at least twice before putting any nut into their mouth and then getting the hell out of there. (Reader: If you didn’t just click on that link, you are not allowed to continue reading until you do.) ( Or you can also watch this one, which is the same yet slightly different). (If these links aren’t working, just go ahead and google Betsy Salkind, squirrel.)

At some point in the near future, I am going to feel compelled to discuss with you the building nut war that is raging between the squirrels and the crows who patronize my front yard nut distribution center. To fully comprehend the magnitude of this upcoming topic, you probably need to do some background reading. The best place to begin is with this piece I wrote about my complicated relationship for the past 20 years to three or four dozen crows.

I will leave you now with this short video I took of a juvenile squirrel enjoying a syringe full of formula.

Happy Final Stretch of the Holidays. Hope they are going well.