I found this little bugger sitting in the road yesterday afternoon.
He was half frozen and near death, and there was nowhere I could put him where his mother could find him (I initially put him on the path, at which point a passer-by almost trod on him). So we took him home and got him drinking and eating, but I assumed that he’d die during the night.
But the little bugger proved stronger than that, and my kind-hearted girlfriend Emily not only looked after him at work all day but found a shelter in Leigh that took him (or her) in. She also, against my advice, made the mistake of naming him Squeaker.
According to the woman who ran the rescue Squeaker was in reasonable shape, and not suffering from dehydration or malnutrition. He might just make it, though I guess we’ll never know.
For once, a story with a (possibly) happy ending. I don’t partake in many of those.