Poor Squidgie

I'm a bit late posting today. Last night at dusk I found a young squirrel in my garden, lying flat out on the ground. I took him in, wrapped him up and put him in a cat basket to rest. I thought he would be dead this morning, but he wasn't. I transferred him to a bigger basket and put in some water and peanuts, but as he was resting his head where the door would shut, I left it open. Tonight I got home to find he'd made it outside, but hadn't gone more than a few inches before keeling over again.

I settled outside with the hens while they had their outing, and tried to drip some water into his mouth. Mostly I seemed to be flushing out fly eggs. Then I tried to contact a local wildlife rescue ambulance service, but they are out of commission, so I contacted St Tiggywinkle's for advice. (This is a renowned rescue service, named after Beatrix Potter's hedgehog character, but it is based too far away to reach me.) So I got the girls to go back home, and took Squidgie to the vet's. There he was to have the fly eggs removed from his coat and mouth (sorry people) and anything else the vet could think of to help him, but he phoned me a while ago and told me the poor little baby didn't make it.

He was a little fighter, but it was all just too much for him.