Bud not Buddy

Last Sunday, on their way home from the store, Rachael and Annie found a baby squirrel. Rachael frantically telephoned and texted me for advice, but I was at work and my phone was ailing (it said it had no SIM card installed) so I didn't get her messages till much later. I eventually told her to give him Pedialyte and baby kitten formula, and to rub his bottom with a warm rag after he ate, to make him poop.

I didn't meet him until Tuesday, at which point Rachael still hadn't settled on a name for him. Max? Ralph? Freddy? She addressed him as Buddy, but didn't think that was a suitable name. He was really cute, with his little grey hands and his skinny grey tail, and his little, tiny brown ears. I got him out of his cage to cuddle, and he stretched out along my forearm and started to suckle! I gave him a bottle of kitten formula, and hoped he'd survive to grow up and move into the park next door.



It was not to be. Rachael texted me at work the next day, 'bud not buddy died! I am so sad.' Dakki thought maybe his mother threw him out of the nest because he was ailing; he'd been pretty lethargic right from the start. Anyway, Rachael and I had a little funeral for him yesterday, and now he's in an unmarked grave near Farney, Leslie, Laxmi, et al.