My husband called me at work one night and said "I found a baby squirrel." I said "put him in a shoebox." I stopped at the store on my way home and bought him "baby formula" and a doll's bottle. My Granddaugter named him "George". That weekend as I was able to feed him every 2hours he thrived. I had to move him to bigger boxes twice. He would squeal so loudly when he was hungry. I would put him on my shoulder and he would cuddle and chirp through my hair and onmy neck. His eyes were not even opened yet. When I went back to work on Monday, he slowly started going down hill. By Thursday he was close to death. I called the local "wildlife rehabilitator". I met her on Friday am and I thought he was dead except for small, little gaspy breaths. On Saturday afternoon I spoke to her and she told me George was alive and well. She had rushed him home and did for him what little baby squirrels needed. I was so happy that I called everyone I worked with and my friends and family to et them know George was alive. I felt tht I had tried to play "Mother Earth" but instead had killed this little baby. I have never spoke to the rehabilitator since but in my heart George will always run free. I am a secretary and shortly after that was Secretaries Week. One of my favorite friends at work brought me a "beenie baby" squirrel. His name is George, because I will never forget the feel of that little squirrel and what he brought to my life in 1 short week. I hope he still lives today