Then the hairs lengthened.
The outline softened.
Week by week, Bean's tail began taking on the fuller shape associated with his species.
His coat filled in too.
The pink skin that had once dominated his appearance disappeared beneath gray fur.
The difference became especially striking when we compared photographs.
In his intake image, Bean looked almost unfinished.
Eyes closed.
Ears folded.
Pink belly.
Mouse-like tail.
Weeks later, the animal in front of us had open, alert eyes and a dense juvenile coat.
And he had become considerably more difficult to keep still.
Bean began climbing with purpose.
Low structures gave way to increasingly complex opportunities for movement as his coordination developed.
His paws could grip.
His hind legs could push.
His balance improved.
He began exploring elevated spaces instead of simply remaining wherever we placed him.
Nutrition changed gradually as well.
Milk replacement remained important during the period when his developmental stage required it, but Bean wasn't supposed to remain dependent on formula forever.
Appropriate solid foods were introduced as he matured.
His initial response wasn't always to eat them.
Sometimes he investigated them.
Held them.
Turned them between his paws.
Chewed briefly.
Dropped them.
Picked them up again.
Learning to manipulate food was part of growing up.
Eventually, experimentation became genuine independent eating.
That was another major transition.
The squirrel who once depended on a caregiver for every meal was beginning to feed himself.
Whenever possible and appropriate, young orphaned squirrels also benefit from development around compatible squirrels of similar age.
Humans can keep an orphan alive.
We cannot perfectly replace everything that would have happened beside siblings and under the care of a mother squirrel.
Growing alongside other squirrels can provide social and behavioral experiences that human interaction cannot replicate.
And the closer Bean moved toward independence, the more important it became that his world revolve around squirrels and natural behaviors rather than caregivers.
His attitude began changing accordingly.
As a newborn, Bean had crawled toward the source of warmth and food because his survival depended on it.
As an older juvenile, he began moving away when people approached.
He became quicker.
More alert.
Less interested in remaining exposed during routine care.
Eventually, opening his enclosure could produce a rapid scramble toward cover.
To someone unfamiliar with wildlife rehabilitation, that might look like losing his trust.
To us, it looked like progress.
We didn't need Bean's trust in the way someone needs the trust of a pet.
We needed his caution.
An Eastern gray squirrel released into the wild needs to recognize that humans aren't companions, food dispensers, or something to approach casually.
His future depends on independence.
At the time of this update, Bean bears remarkably little resemblance to the newborn who first disappeared into a fold of fleece.
His eyes are fully open.
His ears stand normally.
His body is covered in a healthy juvenile coat.
The thin tail has filled out substantially.
He moves confidently, climbs, manipulates food with his front paws, and continues developing the strength and coordination he will eventually need outside.
And he isn't finished yet.
A squirrel isn't ready for release simply because it looks like a miniature adult.
Bean still needs to mature physically and behaviorally.
He needs strong climbing ability.
Balance.
Endurance.
Appropriate foraging behavior.
The ability to handle natural foods.
A healthy coat.
And the instincts and caution necessary to function without human assistance.
Those things take longer than growing fur.
His case is also a reminder of what to do when a very young squirrel is found on the ground.
Not every baby needs immediate removal.
When the animal appears healthy and circumstances allow, contacting a licensed wildlife rehabilitator can help determine whether reunion with the mother might be possible.
But a baby that is cold, injured, weak, visibly dehydrated, covered in insects, or otherwise compromised needs professional guidance quickly.
And feeding should not be the first improvised response.
Keeping the animal safely contained and warm as advised while contacting an appropriate wildlife professional can prevent well-intentioned actions from making the situation worse.
Bean's earliest photographs make that vulnerability easy to understand.
In one of them, he is asleep immediately after being warmed and fed.
His entire body fits inside the fleece nest.
Only the faintest gray fur covers his head and spine.
His eyes haven't opened.
His ears haven't risen.
His belly is pink.
And his narrow tail looks nothing like the tail of the squirrels running through the trees outside.
That little animal depended on us for almost everything.
The squirrel in front of us today is moving in the opposite direction.
Every new skill removes another piece of that dependence.
First, he stayed warm.
Then he gained weight.
His fur grew.
His ears changed.
His eyes opened.
He crawled.
He climbed.
He discovered solid food.
And gradually, he stopped needing us to be the center of his world.
There is still more growing ahead.
But if Bean continues progressing as he has, the final stage of his rehabilitation won't be about what else we can do for him.
It will be about determining when we no longer need to do anything at all.
Someday, the tiny pink orphan curled inside that fleece nest should be replaced completely by a fast, wary gray squirrel disappearing upward through the branches.
And when that happens, being almost unrecognizable from the baby who arrived here will be exactly the outcome we were hoping for.