Saturday, January 23, 2010

In The Dark Of Night

Once, they were very plentiful in Nova Scotia, and people kept them as pets. Then we humans decimated the climax forest, and their numbered dwindled. Today, they are still around, but even people who spend large portions of time in the woods seldom see them. That’s because you need to be in old growth forest, at night.

This is a great shame, because of all wild creatures I have met, my favourite by far is the silent, gentle flying squirrel. Before I moved to a pine-covered point off Waverley Road twelve years ago, I had only occasional glimpses of them, wisps of grey and white silently gliding through shadows. Now, surrounded by mature pines, I am greeted every night at dusk as they sail in to take sunflower seeds from the feeders facing my kitchen window.

Joanne and I have marveled at how dissimilar flying squirrels are from their red cousins. They are nocturnal, gregarious, gentle, silent, and have those lovable big eyes of night things. Put two red squirrels on a feeder and you will hear a lot of noise and see fur fly. Flying squirrels? The more the merrier! I’ve never seen them fight. Nor have I heard a threatening voice. In fact, if one is at the feeder and another shows up, room is made for the newcomer. In a tiny wooden alcove feeder, I have seen four peacefully wedged in for a winter night meal.

Flying squirrels require climax forest, preferably intermixed conifers and hardwoods. They mostly den in tree holes, often those made by woodpeckers. This requires large, usually dead, trees. They eat the seeds of mature trees. Another favourite food is fungi, which needs rotting logs of an old growth forest.

Off course, they don’t really fly. They jump from one tree and glide to the next, sometimes up to 100 feet away. A fold of skin called the patagium connects ankle and wrist, and when they spread themselves out, they become tiny grey kites, their flat tail acting as a balance and rudder. Nothing I know of in nature equals the silent, ghostly beauty of a flying squirrel sailing across my driveway in the moonlight.

The reason I brought up this topic is a conversation recently with Hope Swinimer of Hope For Wildlife.

“We’ve got a little flying squirrel coming in from Liverpool,” she said. “I wonder if it’s northern or southern?”

The squirrel had been badly mauled by a cat (We also have that problem at our house. More on it in a later column) and only survived a few hours in Hope’s care. But she brought up something that few people know. There are actually two types of flying squirrels in Nova Scotia. By far the most plentiful is the northern flying squirrel. If you abide in a decent expanse of old forest, you likely have them. Its smaller cousin, the southern flying squirrel, is quite rare. Officially, it is only found in Kejimkujik National Park and my old stomping ground, the Gaspereau River watershed in Kings County.

I understood Hope’s question. Liverpool is down-Mersey from Keji, which gave her hope (no pun intended) of a rare patient. However, the cat had fractured its pelvis and added internal injuries. It never had a chance.

Flying squirrels are protected species in Nova Scotia. They are too friendly and trusting for their own good. It is normal to have one or two of them clinging to the bark of a pine while I fill the feeder only a foot away. This docile nature, and their cuddly look, once made them popular pets, especially to early residents.
Before renovations started, there was a large painting opposite the foot of the formal staircase at Government House in Halifax, the traditional home of Lieutenant Governors. It was of Lady Wentworth, the wife of our first Governor, Sir John Wentworth, and she had with her a pet on a long blue ribbon. I once asked several staffers what it was, and got only shrugs. I even stumped then-Lt. Governor Myra Freeman. Few of them, I suspect, had spent much night time in Nova Scotia’s almost-gone old growth forest.

My guess is that it has been very many years since anyone recognized that Lady Wentworth had a pet flying squirrel.

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