When my dog, Sydney gets out of the bath, the very first thing she does is rub her face on the carpet to try to dry off her mustache. The second thing she does is pee and/or poop.
I had just stepped out of the shower after bathing myself and my dog. As she rubs her face along the carpet, I wrap myself in a towel and head for the back door. She is right on my heels. As soon as I open the door, Sydney darts outside and I immediately notice that Jake and Annabelle are very involved with something along the back fence. Jake turns to see Sydney running at him and I notice the squirrel make a move along the ground next to the fence. The movement caught Sydney's attention and Jake jumped to regain control of the creature.
I scream, "Nooooo!" and jet out the door. Yes, I am still only in a towel and yes, there is snow and ice on the ground and yes, the temperature is well below freezing. No mind, I am on a mission.
The squirrel has wedged its body between the fence and a tree. I wrestle with the dogs trying to free the squirrel. My towel, forgotten. I look into the squirrel's eyes and see complete fear and notice that his back legs aren't moving. I scoop the squirrel up in my right hand and try to place him on the tree with the hopes that he'll scamper up the trunk to safety. He just hangs there, back end not working. I hold him into place, still in my right hand.
My husband comes to the back door. "What's going on?" he says.
"Get the dogs." I shout.
"But I don't have on shoes."
"I'm naked, here!" My towel is managing to stay along side my body as a bit of it is under my arm which I have pressed to my side.
"What are you..." my husband begins to say.
"Aaaaahhh!" The squirrel with super human strength latches onto my left index finger with his razor sharp incisor teeth. The dogs go bizzerk.
"Kel!" my husband shouts at me as he tippy toes onto the deck in his bare feet. Meanwhile, my naked behind is swinging in the breeze.
I wiggle my finger free, not sure what to do now. My husband calls for the dogs to come inside, but they are not paying him even a speck of attention. The squirrel has captivated their focus.
Some how, the squirrel double-backs on itself and sinks his teeth into my right index finger. By now, my husband has given up on the dogs and in his effort to help in the situation, he stands behind me and holds the towel up to cover my butt. The squirrel is firmly attached to my finger and with each twitch works his teeth deeper into it. I hold my arm out, hanging the squirrel over the fence. I just want the thing OFF!
My left hand is covered with blood dripping from the bites in my left finger and the squirrel isn't letting go. I can hear the tissue snap and crackle and those teeth sink deeper and deeper. It is really hurting. I squeal in pain. I've had enough of this.
I grab his little body in my left hand and press my left thumb on his cheek and pry my finger off the bottom incisors. Those suckers are LONG! Finally freed, I simple drop the squirrel on the far side of the fence. Blood pours from both fingers, the dogs are wild with excitement and my husband, doing everything he can, holds the towel around me.
Once back inside the house, I stand there holding my hands together trying to have the blood pool in my palms and not drip all over the floor. I tell my husband I am going to make a dash to the bathroom.
He stands there and says, "What do you want me to do?"
I had hoped he would say, 'wait a second and I'll get a towel so you don't drip all over the floor,' but for as wonderful as he is, he does not do emergencies well.
The dogs have also come inside by now. Earlier, Mona had scrubbed the kitchen floors and mopped them. They had been beautiful. Now they are covered with dirty feet prints from all three dogs, my husband and me. Plus, droplets of blood. Sorry, Mona.
I make it to the master bathroom sans towel, and turn on the water faucet. I run warm water over my fingers, which are bleeding a steady amount. My husband, in the other room says something about rabies.
Having been bitten by a mouse several years ago, I know the likelihood of rabies transmition by squirrel is slim, but not wanting to take chances, I knew I would need the squirrel.
"Honey, please come here," I call to my husband. Suddenly, I don't feel well and kneel down in front of the sink.
"Are you okay?" he asks.
As the sparkles of white light dance before my eyes and the grey clouds fog in my head, I say, "I'm going to pass out."
"What do you want me to do?" he asks.
I am in no position to answer and my knees give out. He holds me up and I manage to remain aware enough to keep my bleeding fingers in the sink.
"Okay, you'll have to go get the squirrel." I tell him.
"What!? Why?"
"Because if they want to check it for rabies, they'll need its body."
He starts complaining about how this is just one more reason why.....he never does finish the statement. He mumbles about having to get the squirrel and how he will do that and how will he carry it.
I suggest he get some gloves and the dog crate or maybe a box. He tells me to never mind as he has something.
By now, the bleeding has subsided and I accept the fact that I will be going to see a doctor. First, I have to get on some clothes. After that, my first phone call is to the vet. I want to double check the possibility of squirrels having rabies. I figure that if it wasn't necessary to go to the ER, then why make the trip. Unfortunately, they are already closed for the day.
The next call is to the insurance company. As a military dependent, health care is provided by the military at a military facility. With no emergency care on post, I would have to go to a civilian health care provider, but I would need authorization from the military.
When the representative answers the phone, I explain, "Yes, I have been bitten by a wild animal and..."
"You need to go to an emergency room," she replies.
"Yes, I figured as much. But really, it isn't that bad. It was a squirrel."
"Oh, we don't have those here."
I ask where she is and she tells me Arizona.
"Ah, but you do have rattlesnakes and scorpions," I say.
"That is true," she answers.
She provides me with the Army on-call doctor number and say I can call on Monday for a follow-up or I can go ahead and call now. Either way, I will be covered.
Meanwhile, my husband tells Mona to hand him the duct tape.
"What is that?" she asks.
"It's the silver tape in the drawer."
I opt to call the on-call doc. The desk sergeant who answers the phone advises that I should go to the emergency room. He tells me to call back on Monday and not wait to speak to the doctor right now because all he would tell me would be to go to the emergency room.
Off to the emergency room. Mona is invited to come. She might as well get the complete American experience. She's already been to the police department with me to pay a speeding ticket, she should visit an emergency room, too.
The three of us walk into the ER, my husband, holding a cardboard box, me with my hands spread before me, and Mona, with camera. The greeting nurse, a male, asks me if I had just painted my nails and were waiting for them to dry.
We explain that I have been bitten by a squirrel and the squirrel is in the box.
"Don't open it in here," he cautions. "We need to get you cleaned up and call animal control to come take care of the squirrel." He also advises that the likelihood of a squirrel transmitting rabies is remote as they are such a small animal that rabies would kill them too quickly to really be able to live long enough to cause harm to anyone. It's what I thought. The encounter with a wild mouse wasn't completely for not.
"Please," I say. "Don't make me fill out any paperwork. My fingers are no good."
Luckily, the lady at the intake desk, takes all of my information and directly inputs it in the computer. Meanwhile the nurse, comes back with a swab and some Neosporin.
"That's it?" I ask. "I could have done that at home."
Then comes the discussion about Tetanus. Yes, I have had a Tetanus shot within the past 10 years, but uncertain if it's been just over 5 or under 5 years ago. Better safe than sorry. I will be getting a shot.
While getting my vital signs taken by another male nurse, Brent, the police animal control guy shows up.
"Where's the dog?" he asks.
"No dog," replies my husband. "Squirrel."
"We don't do squirrels," he quickly says. "Dogs, yes. Raccoon, yes. Squirrels, no."
"Well, what am I going to do with it?" my husband asks.
"Is it dead?"
"No. It's still alive. You can hear him moving around in there."
"If it were dead, I would take it, but since it's alive, I can't."
There is discussion about killing it. Perhaps wacking it with a stick. That is ruled out because apparently, it would be considered cruel to wack it. I suggest taking it to the parking lot and stomping on its head. That would be quick and painless. The police animal guy says I should have let my dogs finish it off. Naturally, being eaten isn't considered cruel.
My betadine wash arrives. Nurse Brent dabs my fingers with swabs that have been dipped in the batadine. I chose to soak my fingers in the container. Might as well do a thorough job. At least it isn't iodine. Remember that horrific red stuff your mom put on scrapes? That stuff that burned hotter than fire and you felt as if your skin was melting off? Remember?
Out in the hallway, there is discussion about shooting raccoons because they do carry and regularly transmit rabies.
That's when I interject, "You can't shoot the squirrel! His head would vaporize." The animal control guy just looks at me in disbelief. He has no sense of humor.
While I am soaking, two administrator nurses-types and the maintenance guy, holding a caulking gun, come to hear the story. They have, by this point, heard the commotion and part of the story. The maintenance guy suggests a hammer to off the squirrel. The other male nurse agrees that does sound like an engineering solution to the problem.
"Okay, do you want to hear the rest of the story?" I ask. Of course they do. So, I tell them all about how I was naked in the back yard with a squirrel hanging off my finger tip, the dogs running about crazed with excitement and my husband complaining that he doesn't have on any shoes while holding up a towel to cover my behind.
My husband and the animal control guy go outside where my husband is instructed to release the squirrel. As it seems an odd proposition, my husband questions the animal control guy's judgment, but releases it per instruction. The squirrel, who definitely has a broken leg and is also missing an ear, makes a vain attempt to reach safety before it needs to take a rest. It finally reaches a bush where is attempts to hide and rest.
I find this to be a terrible solution to the squirrel issue. "You know," I say to the folks in the ER. "Some small child is going to see that squirrel and be amazed that it doesn't run away and PICK IT UP. That kid is going to be bitten and then I won't be the only person in the ER with squirrel bites today."
A woman replies, "And that will be Officer I-Don't-Do-Squirrels' fault."
I agree.
The doctor arrives to examine my fingers. "That looks painful," he says.
"It is painful," I say.
"Ooooh, it got you on both fingers."
"Yes, he did."
"Well. I'll go ahead and get you on some antibiotics just because he got you pretty good."
Keflex and a Tetanus shot...That's to be my treatment.
Meanwhile, the animal control guy's supervisor has been contacted. The new instructions are to bring in the squirrel. At least the supervisor has some forethought.
I watch the animal control guy return to the bush where the squirrel is hiding, but this time, he has that 5-foot long steel pole with the noose at the end. The one that they use on vicious dogs. I suggest to anyone listening that perhaps it would be easier to just reach in the bush and grab the squirrel.
"That's how you get bit," someone replies. I think my husband said it, but I'm not for sure.
"Well, he does have big leather gloves," I point out.
The squirrel, now captured, is drug along the pavement back towards the patrol car where Officer I-Don't-Do-Squirrels tries to get it into a plastic bag. Keep in mind, Mona has been taking pictures the WHOLE time.
The animal control guy claims that he did use the stick on the squirrel. Mona, who I am apt to believe, says he did not use his stick, that he strangled the squirrel with the noose.
Eventually, the squirrel goes to heaven. I finally get my Tetanus shot. We've been in the ER for nearly an hour and a half.
The animal control guy decides to complete an incident report. On the television in the background there is a story about a Football Linebacker who rushed a cop and the cop tazered him.
I agreed with that cop's decision. "I would have tazered him, too," I say.
The animal control guy mentions that since the Tazer Gun has been available to the police departments, the number of shootings has decreased.
Then...he says, "I prefer to use my hands. The military taught me how to use my hands and the police department showed me how to use my hands. I would rather use the hand-to-hand take down."
"Wait a second," I say. "You would rather use hand-to-hand combat on a bad guy, but you needed a 5-foot long pole for a 6-ounce squirrel?"
The animal control guy....has no sense of humor.
---------On a side note. I realize this posting has taken some time; however, let me point out that BOTH of my index fingers still hurt. Ever try to tie your shoes or zip up your pants without using your index fingers? Ever try to type without using your index fingers? Those folks who have malformed, deformed, or missing hands who perform daily functions with their feet or a stick are in a word, AMAZING. I, to be sure, am a hopeless mess without the ability to use my index fingers.
These are the nasty offending body parts.
