A Long Tail Tale

I am, and always have been, an animal person. I am much better with animals than I am with people. In social situations, I am loud and I sometimes say things that are careless or blunt or tactless, so people don’t much like me. And I don’t much care for a lot of people, either. But animals… I know they are inherently good, and they aren’t hurtful, and they are non-judgmental.

I have always been someone who cares for animals, even the wild ones. Animals like me and trust me, for the most part. I feed the birds and squirrels on our patio. I leave the seed heads on my plants in the fall so the birds have something to eat over the winter, and I leave the old foliage up so birds have someplace to sit and shelter, and the rodents have something to eat. I pitch old potatoes and carrots over the fence for the deer, and I worry about them when winter is cold and inhospitable. I worry too much about the local wildlife, some would say.

My father used to think it was a character flaw, the way I feel for animals. He never expressed any fondness for animals, and in some cases professed great hatred for them — like the mice and squirrels and chipmunks who came into his yard. But he is a complicated character, and so I suspect he just hid his true feelings from everyone — I had to have gotten this empathy from somewhere. My sister is much the same as I am, so it must be something we inherited.

Most people think I am a little nuts when it comes to animals. It’s fine. I am used to it. But it can be terribly trying some days, and my poor husband, who is tenderhearted to a fault, is often caught up in my animal situations through the goodness of his heart.

This morning, I tossed out some peanuts for the squirrels and blue jays, as I do every morning. They come and feed at their leisure, and they are fun to watch. But this morning, something different was happening.

A grey squirrel had come up to the patio. We hadn’t noticed him coming. We just noticed him sitting there, eating a peanut. BDH likes the grey ones the best, since they are so pretty and fat. But there was something strange about this guy. Squirrels are generally, in my observation, frantic and excitable creatures, constantly moving and hopping about. But not this fellow. He was hunkered down in the corner of the patio, quite low, eating slowly and deliberately.

He looked tired. It was almost as though he was falling asleep on his feet. His eyes were not as alert as they should be. And he moved so little, and when he did, it was slow.

BDH watched him for awhile. At first we thought he was cute, like he was tired out or contented to be there or something, but after a few minutes, we began to suspect something was wrong. He just didn’t move around enough. He was staying put way too much. BDH was the first one to say, “Perhaps he’s just very old. Or perhaps he is sick.” Well, he was eating well, so being sick was not so much an issue as perhaps he was injured.

Mostly, though, we thought he might just be very old. When he got down off the patio for a moment to get another peanut, he struggled to get back up.

I was dwelling on him. Our neighbourhood has cat owners who think it’s okay to let their cats out (don’t get me started — I think it’s irresponsible to let cats outside at the BEST of times, let alone next to a conservation area full of raccoons and other bigger, more dangerous creatures! in a town known for its coyote population!) so I was concerned for his safety should a cat come by. But more than that, I was just worried for the old fellow. It’s hard being old at the best of times.

He continued to sit and eat, sheltering against the post, and I went about getting That Baby her breakfast. I kept checking on him. He seemed okay.

I turned away for a little while, to get Stinkerbelle her milk, and when I went back to the window I saw the squirrel being chased — by a neighbourhood cat. Stupid cat. I ran to the window to scare the cat away, which fortunately worked, because the squirrel was struggling to get up the fence and would have been easy prey for a smarter cat. He made it to the top of the fence and then almost fell off again.

I was in tears. He managed to hold his footing, and I just watched him lying there on the top of the fence. My heart was breaking.

Now, I am not stupid. I know that this is the way nature is, and I know that there was nothing I could do for him. All I wanted to do, if none of that was a factor, was to go out and pick him up and put him someplace safe, with food and water and a warm, comfy place to sleep. And get him vet checked, and perhaps, if it was necessary, sit with him while he left this world. My heart wanted to help, but my head knows better.

And that is why I cried.

My husband, good man that he is, will do just about anything in these situations to help an animal in need and a wife in tears. He has spent a day or two rescuing a lost and terrified feral kitten. He has tried to free a fawn trapped in our backyard, to the extent that he was willing to cut open our chain-link fence. He has put up with the huge vet bills and damage to property that comes with living with one sickly and peevish old cat and three younger and considerably less smart ones.

So today, while he should have been getting ready to go to work, he was trying to work out what to do about this squirrel. And he came down in old jeans and sweatshirt, looking for something to put the old fellow in until we could figure out a course of action.

I love him for his kind heart. But as much as I wanted him to swoop in and rescue the squirrel like some humane superhero, it was not practical. If the animal was sick and bit him, or diseased and we brought disease back into the house with our cats and child, or if it got injured more in fleeing from an approaching human… all of these were good arguments for doing nothing.

Doing nothing was all we could and should have done. It was the right thing to do. I could tell it was breaking his heart. It was breaking mine.

We stood at the window and watched. The squirrel looked injured but did not move.

Then, next door, our neighbour let out his dogs. He recently got two small ratty yapper-type dogs. They are confined to the deck, but their noise is not. Fortunately, it was just enough to spur our little squirrel into action. He got up and very shakily, very gingerly made his way down the fence and back towards the conservation area. This was good. He could find a safe place, away from predators, and recover. Or maybe go home to his nest and die.

There would be no way to know. But it was the best possible outcome.

BDH went back to getting ready for work. I cried some more. Stinkerbelle went about her morning playing and watching Sesame Street.

I still look out the window occasionally, just in case he is nearby and needs help. Mostly, I just feel terribly sad that there was nothing, is nothing, I can do to help him.

BDH hugged me this morning and said, “You can’t save them all”. Many people have said this to me over the years, most with disdain and not nearly with the sympathy and caring that BDH felt this morning.

But the problem is that, forty years on, I still wish I COULD save them all. The difference it, age and experience has taught me that I can’t, and that hurts my heart.