Feeling squirrely

I call it the Murphy Effect — it’s when my wife initially turns her nose to an idea, but then slowly — often secretively — starts to warm to it.
It’s named after our dog Murphy, a dog we took care of after his owner passed away. “We are NOT getting another dog,” she told me, knowing what I was thinking. Later that evening, when she floated out a possible name that would suit him, as well as some Dachshund facts she had learned — just because she was curious — I knew Murphy had found a home.
The latest Murphy Effect is Skip, a baby flying squirrel found in a fallen tree. Skip was brought to us for Parker to see, you know, just to let him see what a flying squirrel is like. “We are NOT getting a flying squirrel,” my wife said. The kids were thoroughly in love with Skip, a name bestowed upon him that day by Parker. (His original choice, Squirrel, was vetoed by me.) The kids wanted to keep him. I wanted to keep him. My wife? Not so much.
But I knew it was a done deal when I getting ready to go bed. My wife was at the computer and casually mentioned, “You know, flying squirrels are really good pets...” Sold.
So we ended up keeping Skip, who we later found out was a girl, leading the kids to modify her name to Skipsina, which I guess is feminine enough so as not to give her a squirrel complex.
I know a lot of you are thinking that it’s weird to have a pet squirrel. But the truth of the matter is, squirrels are a lot like hamsters and guinea pigs and the like. In fact, they’re better, because when is the last time you put a hamster on your son’s shoulder and had it fly to you?
All of the research we did said that you really needed to bond with the squirrel. One way was to keep them in your shirt pocket when they are babies. Among the candidates for bonding:
Parker — the problem here was that Parker does not like the idea of the squirrel sitting in his pocket. He wants to pet her. And talk to her. And kind of help with whole flying thing.
Allie — the problem here was that she was OK with touching the squirrel or admiring it from afar, but she would rather have a pocketful of raw oysters than a wiggling squirrel.
My wife — the problem here is that while she was keen on the idea of a pet squirrel, toting it around for hours in your pocket? Not so much.
So I became Mama Squirrel. And Skip and I bonded quickly. She would jump to me and scurry about, usually making a beeline for my pocket. If I came downstairs with her near the dogs, she would leave my pocket and head to the top of my head. Apparently getting as far away from dogs is hard-wired.
We’ve now had her for a couple of weeks, and she is definitely developing a cool personality. She takes to me still, which is good, because it’s always fun to say to someone on the phone, “Hang on a sec — I gotta get my squirrel off my head.”
I have also started a nightly ritual of Flight School. I know she’s a flying squirrel and just kind of knows how to do it, but I want to be a good Mama and teach her right. (For what it’s worth, they don’t actually fly. They jump and then spread out flaps of skin on their sides, gliding to the target. I would like to craft her a tiny helicopter, too, just so she can show up the flying squirrels outside.)
Flight School consists of me taking Skip to various places and having her jump to me. We started Flight School with Parker’s shoulder. This worked on occasion, when we could get Parker to stand still. But telling a 5-year-old to stand still while an incredibly pettable squirrel is perched on his shoulder is comparable to putting a pork chop in a dog’s mouth and telling him to chill for a bit. I have moved Flight School to various places around the house, such as on the mantel. I will put Skip there, stand a few feet away, make a clicking noise, and wait for her to jump. And wait. And wait. And then realize she is far more interested in eating the candle that is there. So I try a different spot. Eventually, I get her undivided attention, and she crouches down, pumps a couple of times and launches. (Important lesson when conducting Flight School: Do not crouch to eye level. They will jump to your face. Had I had my mouth open one time, I would have possibly eaten Skip.)
Skip has also progressed beyond the pocket and loves to take laps around my shirt, often climbing inside of it. I have taken to wearing two shirts, as while she is a great little pet, even I would rather not have a squirrel climbing up my stomach and chest. The rest of the family is enjoying her, too, as she continues to progress with her flying. I am hoping that I can replicate what I have read on some websites, with people saying they can train their squirrels to fly across the room. Maybe it’s just me, but I think it would be only the most awesome thing ever to be, say, signing for a UPS package, make a few clicking noises, and have a squirrel come zipping to your shoulder.
So I guess Skip is a full-fledged member of the Gibbons household. She may not be the most conventional pet. But, hey, nobody ever said we were the most conventional family.