Poor little squirrel!

"Come quick" he said.
I ran to the window. A poor little squirrel. Too close to a porcupine. He must have had about 12 huge quills in his tiny body. But he was still trying to eat the seeds on our deck floor. Having trouble moving around. He looked absolutely grotesque. "Will he die?"
"Dunno. He will work away at the things and try to pull them out. Then they will fester, get softer and if he hasn't died by then, I suppose they would come out more easily, and then maybe the festers heal".
Two days later, he was back. He'd managed to pull out quite a few! And although he still looked bedraggled and thin and grumpy, he was still alive and feeding on the sunflower seeds as best he could.
I was thrilled, and I don't even like squirrels.
In fact, we sometimes shoot them around here. They get into the bird feeder and generally cause a ruckus. But here I am pulling for the little guy and hoping that he cheats death and lives to tell his grandchildren the whole gruesome tale.
Wild things don't stand on ceremony. They don't pity. They don't ponder consequences or have second thoughts. And the code is always the same.
It's only when we humans try to "do things our way" that things get out of whack.
My little squirrel? I'll be watching for him. And when I'm falling asleep tonight, I'll be thinking - Hang in there! Don't give up! You can make it.
Update: I saw the little guy a few days later. Half of the quills were gone. The rest were shorter. He was wounded looking. He seemed to be limping.
Update: A week later we spotted him at the edge of the forest. He still looks tentative and weak.