In the last update, I discussed the docile behavior of the ill-fated red tail, concluding that he’d been raised or spent extended time in captivity and was never taught to hunt properly, and then, some two years later, dumped to fend for himself.  It’s not unusual to get several birds each year that have been illegally and improperly raised by humans. However…

…on Feb. 12, I received another red tail, yet another human-screwed-up bird. I was hesitant to definitively state this, despite the evidence, as what are the odds of two raptor victims of GHS (general human stupidity) coming in back-to-back?  But all the evidence pointed to this conclusion: the bird could only fly 20-30 feet at low altitude before landing; he was thin from lack of proper diet and lack of flight conditioning (which develops the chest muscles); he was totally unfazed by being in human hands; he sat on the glove willingly and comfortably; had no problem with hand-feeding…

 A truly wild bird will remain defensive even as it tolerates its captive state. It darn sure won’t sit on a glove willingly, and it will as soon take your fingers off as accept food from them.

And still I refused to believe the evidence before my own eyes. Because he also had frounce, which is basically a yeast infection of the digestive tract, I focused on treating that first. Once the meds started working, I nicknamed this guy Hoover, because he inhaled the food presented to him like a feathered vacuum cleaner. Because he was also very thin, I was feeding small meals several times a day, and he always wanted more—even gave juvenile begging calls as he demanded, “More! More!” I sent a short video of his behavior to Steve Hicks of Bubba & Friends raptor rehab, and his assessment was the same as mine. And yet I still kept hedging…TWO consecutive birds with extensive prior human contact?

As his condition improved, I was able to feed him larger meals and eventually he was able to eat the mice without being hand fed.  Hoover was transferred to Bubba & Friends Feb. 19, where Steve, who is also a master falconer, put him through his paces and left no room for doubt. The bird has been in captivity, probably for most of his life, and accepted jesses with no problem. His thinness was in part due to lack of developed chest muscles, as I mentioned before, indicating that he’d had very limited access to flight. He had no difficulty adjusting to being in new surroundings or transitioning from a female caregiver to a male caregiver—in short, as long as he gets his food, he just doesn’t really give a (pardon the obvious joke) rat’s arse about anything else.

Steve will continue to work with Hoover to see if he can be “re-programmed” for life in the wild. Honestly, at this point, it’s anybody’s guess. Given his youth, it’s very possible that he was taken from the wild at too young an age, kept as a “pet”,  and will never be able to fend for himself. We’ll just have to wait and see…

And then this week, I received an adult barred owl—GHS victim #3 in a row. What are the odds?

This barred owl was supposedly found by the side of the road, and the couple who called me about him raved about how sweet he was: They were hand-feeding him, and he liked to have his head rubbed, etc. A concussed bird will frequently act very docile, so that was my first assumption. Then they said they’d had him for either a week or a week and a half, hand-feeding him either chicken or beef (their stories didn’t quite jive). When I met the husband to acquire the bird, he had him sitting UNRESTRAINED in the parking lot, on a barstool converted into a makeshift perch. Hmmm….

At Smalley’s, as we attempted to examine his wings before x-raying (no breaks), he stepped onto my arm without my even intending him to and sat there, perfectly calm. Still, concussions will make birds act weird—and three screwed-up birds in a row? Impossible. I eased him off my arm onto the exam table so we could see his feet. All doubt removed…talons were so overgrown that his toes couldn’t even touch the table. This bird had been in captivity on improper perches for a loooong time.

As of today, I’m still hand-feeding him, albeit a proper diet, and he still spits out anything he can feel fur on, necessitating some odd and pretty disgusting maneuvers on my part to make sure he gets the fur and bone he needs. I attempted “tough love” last night, putting mice in with him and hoping he’d eat them. No go; we’re back to hand-feeding...I have serious doubts that the damage done to this bird can be reversed.

Once again, people—and I’m aware I’m preachin’ to the choir here—wildlife belongs in the wild. When you find a wild baby of ANY species, CALL A REHABBER.  Every state game and fish division has a list of the rehabbers licensed in their state and the species their permits cover. CALL A REHABBER. No matter how cute, cuddly, or precious that wild baby looks, it is nonetheless a wild animal and needs to be raised so that it recognizes its own kind and can feed and otherwise fend for itself in the wild. CALL A REHABBER. Have I made myself perfectly clear?? CALL A REHABBER.

This gorgeous little female Eastern bluebird came in the evening of Feb. 18, a Saturday, with a wing injury. Of course, we had to wait until Monday for x-rays to confirm a break, but at least it wasn’t an open fracture. She did have some fresh blood beneath the wing, but no exposed bones, thank goodness.

Monday’s x-ray showed that her right humerus (upper “arm”) is basically a jigsaw puzzle. She’ll never fly again, but she’s eating well and on antibiotics for the treatable wound. We’re going to give her time to see how she adjusts to captivity before calling it on her—and hoping we don’t have to call it. If she adjusts to captivity well, we’ll see about using her as an educational bird.

This approximately 4-5 week old squirrel came in Feb. 21. He had two siblings that were DOA. The caller admitted that he and friends had found the squirrels several days prior to contacting me and had them on the wrong diet that whole time, feeding them when they remembered, and now they were “not looking too good.”

Same old story…people find wildlife and think it’s neat or cool or whatever to try and raise it on their own, and then when they screw up royally and the animal’s at death’s door, they suddenly find a rehabber’s number. Ask any rehabber; we all experience this ad nauseum. See my soapbox rant above…

I met the caller, who handed me a shoebox, with the caution that the squirrels “looked real bad.”  I opened the box, expecting sticky, feces-covered babies. Nope. One was already stiff; one had just died and was cold but still limp; the third, pictured here, was massively dehydrated but still moving.

I try not to be rude to the general public, so I bit my tongue real hard and said as mildly as possible that had these babies been brought to me when they were first found, all three would still be alive. This poor little guy still isn’t in the best shape, but he’s a fighter.

These two squirrels, a couple of weeks older, were luckier; they were brought to me before a bad diet and infrequent feedings screwed them up. They’re in much better shape physically and are starting to show an interest in solid foods.

And I’ve been promising stats for you number-crunchers out there, so here’s a brief rundown:

Laurens Wildlife Rescue received a total of 208 intakes for 2011. Of that total, 99 were songbirds, 42 were raptors and 64 were small mammals of various species. (I had one DOA deer and one DOA turtle.) Our overall release rate, removing DOAs, EUs, transfers, and overwintering “guests” from the mix, was 78%. I logged 6,134 miles picking up critters, running them to the vet, and transferring raptors as needed.

There were 273 calls that didn’t result in intakes, the majority from the metro-Atlanta area, despite my prominent caution on the “Contact Us” page that I’m a good 150 miles from the metro area. I referred all the callers I couldn’t assist to rehabbers in their areas.  

Donations totaled $1726, down from last year; of that, $525 came from donors outside Georgia and $665 from donors in the state who didn’t bring me animals. The remaining $536 came from people who actually brought me critters.  

LWR received two small grants, $4000 and $1500, for supplies, facilities improvements, etc., which helped immensely with purchases of food, bedding, additional rehab manuals and species accounts, and miscellaneous registrations, such as membership in the National Wildlife Rehabilitators’ Association. Portions of those funds, along with part of a small grant received this year, were set aside to revamp my songbird flight pen and construct a small raptor flight pen. Neither of those is past the planning stage right now. 

My total expenses, including $.50 per mile gas allowance, came to $9995. Of that, $5000 came from the grants ($500 of total set aside for flight pen repairs and not spent in 2011); $1726 from donations, and the remaining $3269 from my own paltry coffers. To be honest, without the grants in 2011, I would not have been able to rehab on the scale I did; I would have had to turn animals away for lack of funds to adequately care for them.

This is why I stress that kudos are nice but cash keeps the rehabber in business. As I’ve said repeatedly over the past several years (repeat along with me, now), respect and admiration don’t fill furry bellies or feathered crops.

 Providing for these animals and giving them a second chance at life isn’t cheap, and everyone seems to assume that someone else will step up and help cover the costs. That leaves me making up the rather substantial difference. Sadly, this is true for most rehabbers: we are among those few who can honestly say that we put blood, sweat and tears into our work, along with vast amounts of our own limited funds.

Please keep in mind that YOU are the “somebody else” whose tax-deductible donations can help us continue to compensate for general human stupidity (which I’m STILL not allowed to list as a reason for the animal’s need for rehab) and return these animals to the wild. (Helpful hint: there are PayPal links at the bottom of every page on this site except this one!) Folks, the wildlife I care for is a part of YOUR natural heritage; step up to the plate and assume “ownership” by helping us rehabbers do our jobs!

Sorry, but there’s very little good news in this update, and the stats I said would be ready for this update are not, as actual rehab took precedence over crunching numbers…not that it mattered, ultimately. Every intake since the January update has either been DOA or required euthanasia. This is, however, an accurate snapshot of what rehabbers experience on a regular basis…and yes, it frequently sucks, for lack of a more elegant term.

The broadwing from the last update isn’t healing properly, so she’s looking more and more likely to be nonreleasable.  She’s slated for transfer soon for further evaluation by Steve Hicks of Bubba & Friends raptor rehab, to determine her ultimate fate.

I picked up this barred owl on a Sunday morning. He was found by the side of the road, so HBC (hit by car) was a fairly good guess, only he showed no signs of concussion or other injury. The inside of his beak was very pale, however, and he was rail-thin, so I started treatment for parasites, and he perked up within a few days. Sadly, it was a short-lived victory, as he declined rapidly a week after intake and required euthanasia.

On my way back from picking up the ill-fated barred owl, I saw flashing blue lights in front of me on the interstate, and as I passed by, two deputies were blocking the right lane to protect a downed vulture. I pulled over and walked back to where they were. One of the deputies met me, exclaiming, “What are you doing here? Aren’t you the bird lady? I’m so glad to see you!”

The black vulture had been hit by a truck the deputies had pulled over, and they had been trying to determine how best to move him before oncoming traffic flattened him. The injured vulture shakily stood up and we herded him to the shoulder of the road. While the deputies watched to make sure he didn’t head back into traffic,  I ran back to my car to retrieve gloves, blanket and box. Vultures can run very quickly and can be quite difficult to catch, even when injured—and I did end up chasing him down an embankment and tossing the blanket over him to capture him.

His head had a nasty gash, but there were no other external signs of injury. Unfortunately, he apparently had internal injuries; he died during the night.

This gorgeous mature red tail came in a little over a week later. An eight year old boy got off the bus and went to see what his Chihuahua was “pointing” in a low-limbed tree. Upon seeing this bird in the tree, the child climbed the tree, retrieved the bird and took him home to ask his father if they could keep him. The father loaded boy and bird into his car and headed for the Dublin-Laurens Humane Society, where shelter manager Irene Sumner called me.

Upon arrival at the shelter, I found the child still holding the bird, unrestrained, in his lap. I took the bird and tried to explain the dangers of what he’d just done, pointing out the hawk’s very sharp talons and graphically describing the damage they could do. I could tell I wasn’t getting through, though, because that had not been the child’s experience.

The red tail turned out to be glove-trained; his beak and talons were overgrown; he was rail-thin. I discussed his condition with two other rehabbers and ran him in the next day for vet Peggy Hobby at Smalley’s Animal Hospital to examine. Vet Richie Hatcher also weighed in on the bird’s behavior. The general consensus was that this poor hawk had been raised in captivity and never taught to hunt properly, and then, some two years later, dumped to fend for himself.

Because he was so emaciated, I offered small meals several times a day. The night before his vet visit, he ate two small mice on his own. The next morning, I had to force-feed. Four hours after his vet visit, he began vomiting undigested food.  I treated for the vomiting, but it didn’t stop it. About two hours later, he had fallen off his low perch. I picked him up, only to have him die in my arms. What little care I could provide was too little, too late—his system had already begun shutting down and he was incapable of digesting the food he’d eaten. He died of starvation.

We have no way to definitively prove that his death was a result of human stupidity, of course, and no way to determine who was responsible, but I can guarantee you that I’d like to nail someone’s hide to the barn door.  It’s taken all my restraint to write this calmly about the situation, so enjoy my relative calm while you can; it’s unlikely to occur again.

This gorgeous sharp shinned hawk came in last week with an open wing fracture and the tip of his beak missing. The beak would grow back—and was in the process of doing so; it was an old injury. An open wing fracture, though, is generally a death sentence for a bird; we knew he would require euthanasia. Because I’m paranoid about possible gunshot wounds, however, we decided at Smalley’s to do an x-ray just to rule out that possibility. Thankfully, there was no lead in the wing, but the fracture was even worse than the physical exam indicated.

And today, as I was working on this update, I received a call from a family who’d rescued a cedar waxwing from their cat…TWO DAYS ago. Today it couldn’t stand, which is the only reason they called me, despite the fact that possession of a wild bird by a non-licensed individual is a violation of state and federal law.  When I picked up the bird, just a cursory parking lot exam revealed dried blood on the left wing, the same side of the body the bird was having problems with. I started him on antibiotics and made him as comfortable as possible, but he died 90 minutes later. Had I gotten him TWO DAYS ago, when the injury was fresh and before the toxins in the cat saliva had spread throughout his system, he might have had a pretty good chance at survival, as no bones appeared to be broken.

Folks, ANY time you rescue ANY wild bird or animal from a cat, it needs to be taken to a licensed rehabber IMMEDIATELY for treatment. Cat saliva is designed to break down protein; even if the animal appears uninjured, if it ingests any of that saliva in the process of preening or grooming, it can still be fatal. And always, ALWAYS seek out a licensed rehabber when any critter you rescue has even a drop of blood evident.

I’ll repeat what’s becoming my mantra yet again: No matter how cute and cuddly a critter looks, no matter how “neat” you think it would be to attempt to raise or treat that critter yourself, no matter what a “wonderful learning experience” you think it might be for your children, even if your ultimate goal is to release it, IT IS AGAINST THE LAW TO DO SO if you don’t have the proper permits—and your well-meaning ignorance can cost that critter its life!

Hopping off the soapbox for now to remind you that the Great Backyard Bird Count will be Feb. 17-20 this year. No matter where you live, you can participate; this is one of the easiest bird counts to take part in.  You can count for as little as 15 minutes for just one day, although I think it’s fun to count for at least half an hour each day. Parks are legitimate sites for participation, for you urban dwellers!