Squeak, the daughter of Gladden and Gladys, emerged from Gladys' pouch in February 1998.

In her teenage days, she was an amusing little rebel - making sport of climbing on the forbidden curtains, and such. Then, suddenly, her rebellion turned to meanness. She terrorized her parents, stealing food right out of their hands, chasing Gladden out of the drawer - all, apparently, for the fun of it. We kept hoping she would grow out of it, just as we hoped she would grow into her extraordinarily long tail.

First, I tried punishing her in the kindest, yet firmest, way I could think of. I held her in my hands. She was small enough to be completely enclosed, except for her tail, in my two cupped hands. For an animal whose primary defence is the ablitiy to run (or glide) away, confinement is an undesirable thing. I'd confine her just long enough to let her know she was being punished, until she signaled to me with a hard nudge or a bite that she'd had enough. Then I'd let her go.

Something unexpected happened. I discovered that Squeak actually likes being confined. She wasn't struggling very hard inside my hands. Then when I'd let her go, even though she'd told me she'd had enough, she'd stop within arms' reach. It was far too easy to pick her up again. Neither Gladden nor Gladys would put up with such treatment. Neither of them would climb inside my sleeve the way Squeak loves to do. Our three sugar gliders each have different personalities.

Very recently, Squeak has mellowed out. I always had faith that she would. I don't know, though, if it was the attention I showed to her, or if she just grew up. (She is still so much smaller than either Gladys or Gladden that we think of her as a little girl - but she is, in fact, an adult.) It's too early to call her totally reformed - she still forgets herself and picks fights sometimes - but she is a lot nicer than she once was, and maybe even getting nicer. Her tail is still extraordinarily long, however.

You're a good girl, Squeak.