Buster
I was stationed in Chicago in 1985. I was the active duty training officer for a reserve unit. We had bought our first home in a small town north of the city. One spring day, the kids were playing in the back yard. There were several very old oak trees surrounding the house. The kids saw something fall to the ground out of one of the oak trees. They rushed over to see what it was, followed closely by our pet cat. When they saw that it was a baby squirrel, they grabbed it before our cat could get to it. Our cat Albert was a hunter. She would occasionally bring home “presents” of dead or nearly dead animals for us. Yes, you read correctly. The kids named our female cat Albert. To this day, I’m not sure why.
The kids brought the baby squirrel into the house and showed it to their Mother. It was tiny and its eyes hadn’t even opened yet. It must have accidently fallen out of its nest, which happens occasionally. They called me at work and asked what to do. I guess they figured that since I grew up in the country that I would instinctively know. I didn’t have a clue. I suggested that they call Albert’s vet. Maybe the vet would know. I didn’t think there was anything that we could do, and the baby squirrel was a goner.
When I got home, my wife, Rosie told me that the vet had given her the phone number of a lady who lived in town who was an “animal rehabilitator.” They asked me to call her.
The animal rehabilitator lady was nice. She told me what I needed to do to feed it. She said to go to the Pharmacy and buy an eye dropper, baby formula, and baby cereal. She explained how to mix them together and to feed an eye dropper full to the squirrel every four hours. Then someone had to rub its belly until it pooped. Turns out that someone ended up being me.
For the next couple of weeks, I would get up a couple of times each night, feed the squirrel and rub its belly. Rosie and the kids would do it during the day while I was at work. The squirrel slept in a small carboard box lined with an old towel and kept warm under a lamp.
The kids named the squirrel Buster. We never had any thoughts of keeping it as a pet. Our intention was just to nurse it until we thought it was big enough to take care of itself and then release Buster back outdoors.
Soon Buster opened his eyes and started to move about more. We had to fashion a cage of sorts to keep it from running around at night. Buster grew fast. Before long we were able to wean him to solid food. Buster would scamper around the house and crawl around on your shoulder and perch on your head. Albert didn’t pay Buster any attention. I guess she figured Buster was now a member of the family.
After a few weeks, we thought that Buster might be ready to be released. There were plenty of other squirrels in the oak trees near the house. We hoped that they would show him how to be a squirrel. One bright sunny Sunday afternoon, we opened the front door. Before we knew what happened, Buster ran past us, across the lawn, and scampered up the nearest tree. Great. Mission accomplished.
Monday afternoon when we the kids came home from school; Buster was waiting for them on the side of the house. I guess living outdoors wasn’t all Buster thought it would be and he was ready to come home. What do we do now? I called the animal rehabilitator lady back. She told me that there was a farmhouse out in the country about two hours west of town. Some organization there specialized in taking wild animals and reintroducing them into the wild. She explained that they kept the animals outdoors in a cage for a few weeks. The only human contact was when they fed them. After a while, when they were wild enough again. They would take them out into the woods and release them. She said they would appreciate a nice donation to help them with their work.
The following weekend, I put Buster in Albert’s car carrier and the kids said their goodbyes. Then I made the long drive out in the country to this old farmhouse. I parked and got out the carrier with Buster inside. I noticed that there were several corn crib type chicken wire cages to one side of the driveway. Each one had a different kind of wild animal in it. I walked into the house with Buster in the carrier. There was a small desk in the living room. I put the carrier on the desk and waited for someone to help me. When the people that worked there came out, they gave me nasty looks and told me that it was a problem when people tried to keep wild animals for pets because it became too much for them to care for them and they would end up bringing them to the farmhouse. I was upset at being falsely accused when we were only trying to save Buster’s life. They never asked why we had Buster, so I didn’t attempt to explain or defend myself. They were being real jerks. When they opened the carrier and reached in to get Buster, he kind of attacked them a little. I guess he instinctively knew what was coming and that his life of Riley was over. They didn’t even give me a chance to say goodbye. I was planning to leave a nice donation, but after being falsely accused, I only left a modest donation instead. I was obviously unwelcome there, so I took the carrier back out the car and drove home. I never saw Buster again. I hope that he was able to adapt and had a nice life.
