Post-Traumatic Squirrel Disorder. I miss my flying squirrel a lot. I cleaned out the cage as soon as I had the funeral, but the cage was by the door. So whenever I went inside or out, he was there, or in his box trying not to be bothered by me. Now I just have an empty cage. I miss seeing the signs of the squirrel.
My Dad raised about three dozen flying squirrel in the past 20 years. So we know a lot about the habits of these elusive night creatures. When Dad's health became such that he could no longer take care of them, he gave them to a wildlife rehabilitator in Christmas, Florida. Except Stubby, who could not be released to the wild so we kept him. Stubby was the last of our old squirrel clan.
Dad called the place in Christmas, and they have four flying squirrel that they cannot release. So I may have a couple more in a few weeks.
They are known as the Southern Flying Squirrel. There is the Northern Flying Squirrel, which is a little larger and in Canada. The Southern flyer is south of the Canadian boarder, and Common in Florida north of Lake O.
I have a friend in Birmingham, Alabama, who took some photos of them at night. With the look on their faces, you can see why some cultures thought they were little imps or faeries. They had that cute impish look on them here.
I believe that the photo above is a male squirrel, and this second photo is a female. (I know my squirrrels.)