TulsaPets Magazine January 2021

14 TulsaPets • January/February 2021 (Or the spirit guide of Vernon Mooseburger? My inner child will forever anticipate the Rainbow Bridge) had sent me a gift. They say grief is love with nowhere to go. Now, I had a tiny outlet (and I do mean tiny) that might ease me slightly through the loss of my favorite fur-kid. I still remember holding them in my hand for the first time. They were three little males, about the size of mice, with enormous eyes and tails tipped with fur that grew to flatten on each side—nature’s rudder for gliding through the trees. Their coats were satin, unlike the coarse feel of their larger cousins’ pelts. As per most juvenile wildlife, they stayed frozen in my hand, full of fear. (An aside: people often tell me they have special “moments” of bonding with infant critters as they hold and cuddle them. That’s not what it is. It’s stark terror on behalf of the baby. They’re hoping they can stay still long enough to disappear or something, as they’re programmed to interpret you as a carnivore ready to make them a meal. While rehabbers usually have to touch them anyway, we follow protocol to ease our way into it and gain trust through food and time.) I promised them I would do my best. I started research, figuring that, after all, they were in the squirrel family, so it shouldn’t be that different to care for them, right? Wrong. I had a whole new adventure before me. Once they adjusted to their new life, these little guys led me down several merry paths. As far as diet, I was surprised to discover they were fully omnivorous. The idea that squirrels sit around eating acorns falls short of what they actually ingest, but flyers are even more adamant about variety. Not only do they enjoy seeds and nuts, as well as mushrooms, some vegetables and fruit, but they are also accountable for sneaking into nests in the spring and summer months to eat eggs or even newly hatched chicks. They even compete with possums to eat carrion! (Kind of shocking to think these precious creatures are the “Chuckies” of the animal world, isn’t it?) Flying squirrels are almost never seen by diurnals; they are active at night and seldom hit the ground for any reason. Their coats are a rich brown on top, so anything that looks down on them has to look hard because they blend into the trees they inhabit. Their bellies are a creamy shade; if one looks up into the sky at night, the eye will be tricked into thinking the wind is filtering moonlight through the trees. An active colony might give the impression that fairies truly exist. And they are fast. Not just quick, I mean these kids were lightning in their actions. I realized I needed to winter them over, as their habitat had been destroyed and apparently their mom with it (or she would’ve returned for them). I had no idea where to release them, nor did I know of any existing colonies in Tulsa at that time. I housed them in a huge indoor cage furnished with branches, hiding places and all the nooks and crannies they may want. I could hear them sometimes at night, as they called to each other with a high-pitched sound like “Zzzzp-zzzzp,” which was fitting for such activity. I learned to be pretty speedy about cleaning and feeding, too—one sailed past me one night, literally racing up my arm and soaring across the room. Lucky for me, I whirled fast enough to see him skittering into the dining room and was able to capture him; otherwise, I might’ve had an invisible friend living in the house for some years to come! The time came for release, and I was at my wits’ end. Reminder: these are my early days as a rehabber, and I didn’t have the connections that later developed. Then I realized something. As a kid, I’d never seen flying squirrels in the zoo. Maybe the zoo would want them? Oh, lucky us! The Tulsa Zoo rarely accepts wildlife (for good reason), but they had had a flyer who had passed recently, so the three bros made quarantine with “flying” colors, then went on to become residents. Although bachelors forever, they had companionship and certainly a comfy life. Thank you, Vernon Mooseburger, for my enchantment. And when moonlight flickers next spring, may others enjoy these living fairy tales, too. Photos courtesy of Kathy Locker Photo courtesy of Kim Doner