From Fear To Love - Lessons From a Baby Squirrel

This journey started on Thursday 22nd September 2022 when I came across a baby squirrel in the garden. He was tiny. Lying on the ground between two trees. Not moving. Bluebottle flies were gathering on him. It was purely by chance that I even passed him, let alone saw him - I wasn't even going to go in that direction.

Fate took me that way. 

It was faith (instinct) that prompted the baby squirrel to leave his nest. He found me. Instinct prompted me to pick him up without hesitation, and with no idea what I was to do next or the journey that lay ahead for both of us. Faith prompted me to stay in the now, to trust love, and fall into the unfolding. 

He made it through the first night, and by the morning he had a name. Sammy. 

That was five weeks ago, and his journey since then has been seen by many people, thanks to an early recommendation from someone who had rescued a baby robin and discovered the value of a hashtag to share his journey. Sammy's is #sammysquirreljourney

Today it's a different story. 

Yesterday I finally managed to secure a bridge I'd made for Sammy, so he could find his way from my window (I live on the second floor) to the huge beech tree outside the window, and back to the home where he belongs. His development over the previous few days had grown in leaps and bounds and he was clearly ready to start his next adventure. I'd had the bridge hanging up inside for a few days so he could get used to it and feel comfortable - suffice to say he loved it from the first moment it was up. It was an instant hit, and his acrobatic antics rose to another level. 

The making of the bridge is a story in itself, and the fixing of it to a branch is yet another. For the moment let's stay at the point where the bridge was safely secured in place. Yesterday afternoon was warm and sunny. And the time was right for Sammy to take his next steps. Gently, and in his own time. With the support of a bridge that meant he could come back and forth as he chooses until fully re-wilded.

So yesterday afternoon, just me and Sammy on our own for this special moment, I explained to him again what this was all about, and opened the window. He chirruped. He flicked his tail. His eyes shone. And he went straight out there, sniffing the air with excitement and recognition.

The thing is, he didn't go on the bridge. Instead he wandered around happily scratching and snacking on the lichen on the window ledge. He went to one side, and then the other. And somehow went around the corner. Where he was out of view. And that's the last I've seen of him. 

It happened almost instantly. Fear levels rose. Heart beating. Feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach - not helped by the sound of something I imagined to be a baby squirrel landing in a pile of leaves below the window. Racing downstairs, calling Sammy's name, I searched everywhere. And I mean everywhere. Looking at where he could have landed (if indeed that noise was what I'd imagined it to be) and berating myself for not looking after him properly "how could you have done that Melanie? How could you have put him in danger?"

He wasn't there. There was no sign of him. And neither was there any sign of him as I looked back up to my window. 

Tears streamed down my face as I begged and pleaded "please no, not again. I can't. I can't do this. Not again. Please don't let this happen."

Through the tears, looking up to my window gave me an element of reassurance. I'd never looked at the walls and windows in any detail. Yesterday I saw the surface is rough enough for a squirrel to climb... and I felt more certain that the noise I'd heard (imagined?) could not have been Sammy. I was reassured again a few hours later by a wonderful baby squirrel expert I'd been introduced to at the beginning of this journey - thank you Rachel. She explained that if it had been him, if indeed he had fallen, I would have found him. If he was injured I'd have found him, and if he was frightened he'd have found me. 

"And anyway," she kindly reminded me, "the height he originally fell from as a tiny helpless baby is much greater than your window! And now he's grown and capable. If he was in any trouble, you'd have found each other, and that's for certain."

OK. So even as the fears continued to circle and taunt me (what if he's hurt? What if he can't get to you? What if he's in shock? What have you done?) I chose to focus in the way Rachel had recommended. After all, she's rescued, raised and released countless baby squirrels, so she knows what she's talking about! He's out exploring. He's started living his best life. He has no idea you're concerned. You've raised him well. He's confident and capable. Trust, Mel, trust.

My next few hours were spent battling with disbelief, shock, grief, guilt, shame and all the usual fear vultures that can draw in and circle ominously whenever the not-knowing appears.

I kept gently reminding myself that this is all it is, it's simply the unknowing, that's what I'm experiencing. Noticing myself piecing together bits of evidence that feed my fears, while dredging up a torrent of traumatic memories from the past, I repeat over and over again that this is simply the not-knowing. That's all. 

Did I see Sammy fall? No. Is there a body, or an injured squirrel anywhere in the vicinity where he could have fallen, even if that was the case? No. 

If he needed my help, could he find me? Yes. Has he shown himself, time and time again, to be capable, tenacious, and ready to leave? Yes. Have I been reassured by someone who absolutely knows her stuff? Yes. And as well as that, have I also been reassured by the dear friends (thank you Kirsten and Geoff) who've been with me every step of the way, providing me with logical explanations and holding me while I sobbed? Yes. 

I flitted between the garden and the flat for the rest of the afternoon, calling Sammy's name all the time, finally coming in when it was dark. I left the window open, a light on, and some of his favourite snacks at the window. I'd done all I could. Before coming inside, I'd kept repeating until I could speak with a relatively clear voice "Sammy, wherever you are, I love you, I trust you. and I thank you" - it was the only thing left in my power to do. Overnight, while sleep was somewhat fitful, I chose to keep repeating a mantra to myself. Holding the circling fears at bay and keeping myself in the now and in faith. This was the mantra: "Thank you God, thank you Sammy, thank you Love" until I could feel it as the truth, right in the centre of my tummy.

This morning brought different waves of emotion - including anger. Right from the start of this journey I've been met by people telling me that Sammy is vermin. A Wildlife Centre informed me that they couldn't (and wouldn't) give any advice for caring for a baby grey squirrel. They said my only option was to take him to a vet to be euthanised. I've subsequently heard similar judgements from other people.

And I'm angry. To discriminate against one of God's creatures because of the body it's born in, does not sit well in my world. In fact it doesn't fit at all. I say no. My mantra is to do no harm (and take no shit), and wherever I can genuinely add something useful to anyone or anything that requires my help, if it's within my power, that's exactly what I'll do. Regardless of breed, creed, colour or situation. If I could relive the moment I found Sammy, I'd do exactly the same thing. Over and over and over again. 

I'm also humbled, and grateful. I see the fears for what they are - mine. I own the guilt for what it is - mine. I acknowledge the expectations for what they are - mine. And the phrase "God laughs while man makes plans" appears to be on an internal loop.

Yesterday's adventure didn't go as planned. Well, not as I planned anyway. And just because I lost sight of Sammy, doesn't mean there's a shred of truth in any of the frightening scenarios I imagined. And actually there's not a jot of evidence to support any of them. Quite the contrary. 

The truth is in the way I'm feeling. The truth is in the surfacing of fears. The truth is in acknowledging those fears, feeling the feels, and allowing them to pass through. The truth is in reaching out (and being held) by beautiful people who love me, and love Sammy. The truth is in listening to the reassurances, believing in Mother Nature, focusing on the overwhelming evidence that this particular squirrel is a tenacious soul who's determined to live his best life.

The fears are mine, and mine to hold and dissolve myself. The love is also mine, it's mine to welcome and accept, and it's everywhere. 

So now, today, I'm again surrendering to love. Reminding myself that Mother Nature knows a whole heap more than I do. Remembering how strong and clever Sammy is, the strength of his natural instincts, and his tenacity to survive. In this unknowing, I place my faith in the unfolding. In the truth of eternal love, and in surrendering to it, knowing that love is indeed the strongest power in the universe. 

Sammy, wherever you are, I love you, I trust you and I thank you. May our journeys continue unfolding exactly the way they're meant to, held by Mother Nature, by love. I know we'll meet again my friend. Someway. Somewhere. Somehow. Thank you, I love you. 

PS: And now, just as I'm about to post this, I'm witnessing from my window, a very small and very fierce little squirrel running across the lawn and chasing off a crow. There are a number of squirrels running around today. This particular one is smaller than the others. Much smaller. And he's doing just fine. It's Sammy. Thank you God, thank you Sammy, thank you Love.