Amanda Driscoll’s path to wildlife rehabilitation did not begin with a license. Though she has been officially licensed in the state of New York for just a little under two years, her dedication to animals and the environment reaches back decades, rooted deeply in her childhood.
She grew up with a forest in her backyard, a place that was never a destination but a constant presence. The woods were where days unfolded naturally, through hiking, digging, climbing, and listening. Her parents instilled in her a quiet but powerful understanding that the woods were not simply something to enjoy. They were something to care for, something that required responsibility.
“It was ingrained in us,” Amanda recalls. “That it was our responsibility to take care of these woods, and really, everything around us.”
That belief shaped the way her family interacted with wildlife. Caring for injured animals or helping those in need was never treated as extraordinary. Birdhouses were built, animals were fed, and compassion was practiced in tangible, everyday ways. From a young age, Amanda felt drawn to wildlife rehabilitation, but for many years the formal process felt overwhelming. Life carried her elsewhere, to Texas, to Philadelphia, and beyond. Still, the woods never left her. They remained a quiet pull, waiting in the background.
The Turning Point: A Pandemic Rescue
That pull resurfaced during the pandemic.
While working on a construction site, Amanda’s son discovered a fallen squirrel nest with babies inside. Without hesitation, he protected them and called his mother. In the background, someone casually suggested discarding the animals, but he refused. He had been raised differently.
With rehabilitators overwhelmed and facilities unavailable, Amanda reached out anyway. A licensed rehabilitator could not take the babies but offered guidance from a distance, talking her through care and providing supplies. Through the online squirrel rehabilitation community, Amanda raised her first two squirrels at home.
What began as an emergency rekindled something that had always been there. Soon after, Amanda completed the licensing process, turning necessity into commitment.
When Rehabilitation Becomes Who You Are
Wildlife rehabilitation does not simply fit into a life. It transforms it.
“Rehab has a way of almost taking over your life,” Amanda explains. What starts as feeding and basic care quickly becomes a deep investment in learning. Every case is different. Every animal presents a new challenge, and the desire to understand, improve, and do better grows stronger with each experience.
Over time, rehabilitation becomes part of identity. Amanda became known simply as the squirrel person. With that shift came a deeper understanding of nature itself. Many rehabilitators begin believing they can fix everything. Eventually, they learn otherwise. Nature is beautiful, but it is also harsh and unforgiving. Rehabilitation brings an unfiltered awareness of both truths existing side by side.
Learning to Be Flexible When Life Is Full
Amanda describes herself as someone who likes structure. Before wildlife rehabilitation, her days followed schedules, routines, and plans. Rehab changed that quickly.
“Nothing teaches you that control doesn’t matter like wildlife rehab,” she says.
Baby season does not pause for work schedules or family responsibilities, and Amanda lives fully in both worlds. In addition to her rehabilitation work, she is a teacher and the director of a small private preschool. She is also a mother, deeply involved in her children’s lives and commitments. For Amanda, quitting one role to serve another was never an option.
Instead, she learned to adapt.
Over time, Amanda figured out how to make rehabilitation portable. Feedings are planned around work hours. Supplies are packed and brought along when the day requires it. Bottle warmers and heating tools travel with her when needed. If her daughter has a long day at the barn or a competition, the squirrels go too.
“It would be really easy to say no,” Amanda explains. “To say we can’t go because we have the babies. But I learned how to bring the babies with me.”
That flexibility has become essential, not just for logistics, but for her mental health. Amanda believes that giving up everything that makes life meaningful in order to keep animals alive is a fast path to burnout. Staying connected to her family, her work, and the parts of life that bring her joy helps her endure the hardest moments rehabilitation brings.
Rehab, she says, is a lot like motherhood. It demands presence, sacrifice, creativity, and constant adjustment. Thanks to modern tools and hard-earned experience, she has found ways not just to manage both, but to truly live while doing so.
Home-Based Rehabilitation and Coming Full Circle
Amanda’s work is intentionally small and home based. She lives in Avon, New York, right next door to where she grew up, separated from her childhood home by the same creek she once explored. The animals in her care begin their journeys indoors, receiving constant attention in their earliest days. As they grow, they move through a series of habitats before being softly released into the woods behind her home.
They are the same woods that shaped her childhood.
Returning home has been more than geographic. It has been deeply symbolic.
“I’m back,” Amanda says. “And I really am taking care of those woods.”
A Family and Community Effort
Amanda does not do this work alone. Her family forms the foundation of her rehabilitation efforts. Her daughter is beginning the licensing process. Her sons assist with outdoor tasks and setups. Her father builds equipment in his workshop, often without being asked. Her husband provides steady support and supplies that keep everything running.
Beyond her household, Amanda relies on a close-knit network of rehabilitators in the Finger Lakes region. They share resources, knowledge, and emotional support through both successes and heartbreaks. Community, she believes, is essential in this work. She is deeply grateful for the donations and registry purchases that help make this work possible, and for the people who continue to show up for wildlife in quiet but meaningful ways.
The Unpredictability of Wildlife Care
The number of animals in Amanda’s care is never predictable. Some days bring one intake. Others bring ten. At present, Amanda is overwintering six squirrels indoors, with three more already soft released and still supported outdoors.
One day before Thanksgiving, after carefully setting up a larger indoor enclosure, Amanda moved all six squirrels into their new winter space. By the following morning, every single one had escaped, turning her basement into their own personal playground.
“All six,” she laughs now. “I knew immediately it was going to be a long winter.”
They were recovered quickly with the help of an enticing breakfast, but the lesson stuck. Squirrels are far smarter than most people give them credit for, and they are always one step ahead of even the best-laid plans.
Finding a Niche with Squirrels
Over time, Amanda found her niche with Eastern gray squirrels, though she once assumed opossums would be her focus. Squirrels fit her space and lifestyle, but more than that, they surprised her.
“I think they’re really underrated,” she says. “People think they’re just annoying rodents, and they’re not.”
She came to admire their intelligence, resilience, and complexity. Once people truly get to know squirrels, she believes, respect follows naturally.
Small Actions, Lasting Consequences
One of the lessons Amanda feels most strongly about is how small, everyday choices ripple outward in ways people rarely consider.
Rodenticides, in particular, are something she believes people need to understand far better.
To many homeowners, putting down poison feels like a simple solution to a simple problem. A mouse appears, poison is placed, and the issue seems resolved. But Amanda sees the aftermath of those decisions far beyond the walls of a single house.
“That one small action,” she explains, “doesn’t just stay in your home. It moves through nature.”
When poisoned rodents leave a structure, they become part of the food chain. They are eaten by owls, hawks, foxes, and other wildlife. The toxin travels upward, affecting animals that were never the intended target.
“We forget that we’re just a small part of a much bigger cycle,” she says. “Every move we make has an effect.”
Through her rehabilitation work, Amanda has seen firsthand how preventable many wildlife injuries are. For her, education is as important as hands-on care. If more people understood the consequences of rodenticides, fewer animals would suffer as a result.
Habitat, Ethics, and the Hardest Decisions
Living where she does makes all the difference. Amanda knows she could not do this work in a city. When she releases an animal, she wants to know it has space, cover, clean water, and safety. Her property provides all of that, and her family has worked hard to protect it.
That understanding was tested during one of the most difficult rescues of her career.
A call came from a newly developed neighborhood where only two trees were standing, and one of those had just been cut down. The tree had been home to baby squirrels. Their mother was nearby, frantic and searching for a place to take them. Despite repeated efforts to reunite the family, the surrounding environment offered no viable habitat.
“She had nowhere to take them,” Amanda says.
For days, Amanda and others waited, played calls, and watched. The mother paced, returned to the box, and searched for a solution that no longer existed.
“I was sitting in my car just sobbing,” Amanda recalls. “Watching her.”
Ultimately, Amanda took the babies into care. The decision sparked debate within the rehabilitation community, and there was no perfect answer. Still, Amanda does not regret it. Seeing those squirrels now thriving in real woods confirms that they were given a chance they never would have had otherwise.
Loss, Resilience, and Learning to Stay
Loss is the hardest part of rehabilitation.
“I think most rehabbers would say the same thing,” Amanda admits. “Losses are the biggest challenge.”
Some seasons are heavier than others. After one particularly painful loss, Amanda stepped away from her work entirely. She avoided the woods and withdrew from her support network for weeks. What brought her back was the understanding that she is part of nature’s cycle, not in control of it.
“I have to remind myself that I am only part of the cycle,” she says. “I can’t always win.”
Limited access to wildlife veterinary care in New York intensifies these moments, often leaving rehabilitators to problem-solve alone and wrestle with self-doubt when outcomes are unfavorable.
Compassion and Letting Go
One of the hardest lessons Amanda has learned is that compassion does not always mean survival. Sometimes, it means letting go.
She recalls a baby squirrel rescued from deep inside a car. Despite every effort, the animal was not thriving. Veterinary guidance made the reality clear. Keeping the squirrel alive would only prolong suffering.
That moment forced Amanda to ask herself a difficult question. Was she acting for the animal, or for herself?
Choosing peace over pride is never easy, but it is part of responsible care.
Redefining Success and Growth
For Amanda, success in rehabilitation is not measured by release rates. She rejects the idea that numbers define worth. Success, to her, is compassion. Every animal that comes into her care is treated with dignity, regardless of the outcome. No animal is ignored. None are left alone.
She also measures success through growth. This year, she raised newborn pinkies, animals she once refused to take because they terrified her.
“A year ago, I would have said absolutely not,” she says. “Now? Give them to me.”
Grace
Grace is an Eastern gray squirrel and Amanda’s first pinky success story. She arrived thanks to a young man who did everything right, keeping her warm and calling for help. Amanda had never raised a pinky before and did not even have the right supplies, but she learned quickly, asked questions, and leaned on others.
Grace survived.
Later, digestive complications meant she needed to overwinter rather than be released too soon. Today, she is thriving. Quiet and patient, Grace is often the last to eat and is marked by distinctive white rings around her eyes.
“I think she’s the prettiest,” Amanda says.
Grace received her name during a late-night feeding while Amanda streamed a Dave Matthews Band concert. A song titled Grace Is Gone played, and the name stayed.
“She taught me a lot about grace,” Amanda reflects. “About giving myself some, too.”
After a season filled with loss, Grace became a reminder that Amanda did know what she was doing, and that continuing mattered.
Today, Grace is doing well and will be ready for a soft release in the spring.
Doing the Best You Can
Amanda’s guiding philosophy is simple and hard-earned.
“You can only do so much. You can’t control every outcome, but you’re obligated to do the best you can.”
She hopes her story helps others recognize their role in the natural world. Not everyone will become a wildlife rehabilitator, but everyone makes choices that affect wildlife. Small actions matter. Habitat matters. Compassion matters.
Ultimately, Amanda reminds us that we are only visitors in the woods, responsible for what we leave behind.
You can make a real difference for wildlife rehabilitators like Amanda. Share their names with friends and family, like and repost their social media content, and donate to their registry to directly support their lifesaving work. Most wildlife rehabilitators receive little to no funding and rely almost entirely on community support. Every share, reaction, and donation truly matters.
Follow The Farm @ 164: Facebook & Instagram
Donate To Their Registry: HERE
Recent Articles
