She doesn't have a name yet, and perhaps she won't be needing one.
But as of today, the squirrel who turned up at the base of my driveway a week ago Saturday has something she needed even more than that: hope that she may make it. She is no longer lying on her side, no longer surrendering to lengthy sessions of being hand fed formula, electrolytes and water through a syringe. She is tucking all four legs beneath her, using her front legs to dig, sitting upright, walking on all fours and, best of all, starting to tear at some of the nuts and fruits and nutritional biscuits I'm leaving in the pet carrier. (I put them in there quickly, by the way. She is fast, she is furious and she snarls louder than a freight train.)
She throws herself at the front of the carrier when I walk into the room. She detests me. How normal and how comforting. She knows she is a squirrel again!
Her balance is not yet 100 percent, she still falls over sometimes when she walks - and yes, she'll be spending the winter with us, at least. But with a little time and lots of good nutrition her prospects for release in the spring are excellent.