Baby season, that is. Late yesterday afternoon, the first baby bird of the season arrived at LWR. And I want to commend the little hatchling’s finder for doing everything right. People like her warm the cockles of a rehabber’s misanthropic heart.

When she found the bird in her driveway, the first thing she did was look for a nest. Seeing none, she called LWR and left a succinct message stating that she’d found a baby bird and didn’t see a nest. When I returned her call, she again briefly described the situation and followed my advice to stabilize the wee one before we met, as it would be a few minutes before I could leave the house. She was willing to drive outside town to meet me, and she made a generous donation toward the care of the bird, which is possibly a robin—too soon to say with certainty. (I can give you a list of what it’s NOT; just can’t tell you what it IS yet…) All this took place within 45 minutes of her call, so when I got the bird, it was hungry but not starving and had been kept warm. Way to go, and thank you!

Poor baby's somewhat lethargic today and its poop’s gotten a little loose, but I did start it on antibiotics, just in case. We’ll see how things go…Fingers crossed…

Sorry for the jumpiness in the vid--hard to feed the bird and focus at the same time.

Come to think of it, this was one of those rare weeks where everybody who brought critters to LWR did things right. Wow, maybe I should have a commemorative plaque made!

When this downy great horned owl was found in an area slated for a controlled burn, the burn was delayed while workers looked for the nest and for any other grounded babies. Neither was located, and although the GHO was in another county, he was brought to LWR within two hours—unhappy at being handled but otherwise unscathed.

He’s now in with the older (by a week or so) GHO, so they can be clueless together. The older GHO has adjusted to being fed, etc.; the new arrival still hunkers down in classic threat pose, which is actually quite funny to see in a downy baby!

This one's a bit dark, but you can hear the younger GHO clicking that beak viciously as he hunkers down in threat position, pictured below.

And here’s a weird coincidence—last week’s cat-attacked yellow-rumped warbler was a first for LWR (thanks to a sharp-eyed reader for correcting my original misidentification as a goldfinch; I’m a rehabber, not a birder. Thank God for Sibley’s!); they’re winter guests in the South, heading back to Parts North to breed. And whaddya know? Another yellow-rumped warbler showed up this week, in the third example of rescues done right!

This bird’s rescuer noticed the warbler on the porch of her workplace and waited and watched for 45 minutes to see if the bird would fly away. As her lunch break approached and the warbler was still grounded, she called LWR and explained the situation. I figured we had a window-strike, and sure enough, this poor baby had a major headache when she came in. Since it had started raining by the time she came in and continued to rain until after dark, she overnighted at LWR, even though she was feeling much better as night fell.

By the next morning, she was rarin’ to go and immediately flew to a high perch in the trees above me to preen away the “cooties of captivity”! (Sorry for the generally dull color and blurriness on the second vid; while the rain had stopped overnight, it was still overcast when I released her, and the camcorder focused on the background and not the tiny bird.) 

The youngest flyer is starting to nibble at solids, which is a good thing, and her older cousins have settled down enough in their pre-release digs that I was able to snap a few photos of them, so enjoy more flyer preciousness!

The next four are of the older flyers.

And once more, kudos to everyone who did all the right things this week in seeking help for wildlife in distress. It’s nice every now and then to be able to praise instead of vilify!

Yep, I actually heard that from someone this week who brought me a little yellow-rumped warbler. The caller said she saw the bird in the yard and her cat seemed “interested” in it and then chased it and caught it several times, “just playing with it; he didn’t mean…” She trailed off.

I gritted my teeth and told her that the bird needed antibiotics if it had been in the cat’s mouth at all. When I got the little warbler, her left wing was all but ripped off at the wrist.

Her right wing was missing most of its feathers.

All her tailfeathers were gone.

I showed the lady the damage and explained that her cat had effectively killed this bird and she asked, “Well, can’t you just put it in a cage?”

“Ma’am, imagine that your hand has almost been severed at the wrist and someone just stuck you in a room.”

“Well, I mean treat it, of course.”

“Ma’am, there is no treatment for this. This bird will never fly again, and if I attempted treatment, all I’d be doing is prolonging her agony.”

“Well, what will you do, just put it somewhere until it dies?”

“No ma’am, I’ll end her suffering as soon as I get her home. This is what happens when cats are allowed outdoors. It’s safer for your cat and the wildlife in your yard if your cat stays indoors.”

“Well, I hate you can’t help the poor bird.”

Notice there’s no expressed remorse that the cat she carelessly allowed outdoors maimed this poor bird to the point that it required euthanasia.

Folks, I have cats. I love my cats. And because I love my cats, they remain indoors, safe from predators, traffic, parasites and lousy weather. And because my cats are indoors, the only predators my wildlife faces are those they’d encounter in the wild—natural predators, such as owls and hawks.

I cannot stress it enough: CATS BELONG INSIDE. It’s safer for them, and it’s damn sure safer for wildlife.

Shortly after this warbler's needless death, a game warden from several counties south of me called with an injured osprey. This poor bird looks to’ve lost a battle with a bald eagle. He’s ripped open from his neck to just above his shoulder. 

The wound was fresh when he came in, the blood still sticky, and there was some swelling, so vet Richie Hatcher of Smalley’s Animal Hospital in Dublin recommended no sutures to begin with. The wound needs irrigating daily, and the bird is on a strong antibiotic to prevent infection. The problem is that as the swelling has gone down, I’m seeing a wound I don’t think we can fix.  I’ll be taking the osprey back in Monday for further evaluation, but I suspect, looking at this wound now, that we may be fighting a losing battle.

There is some good news in this otherwise horrific week, however: the downy GHO continues to amuse me with his goofiness. As his vision sharpens, he’s transfixed by shadows. I’m trying to feed him and he’s head-bobbing and beak-clicking threats at his own shadow. And feet—oh my God! He has feet! And they’re amazing to watch! He stares at his feet without moving for minutes on end…His feathers are coming in nicely, though. Thank God feather growth doesn’t require smarts; he’d be so out of luck…

And the little flyer continues to grow. She’s still mostly in the “eat and pass out” mode and not really interested in solid food yet, but she’ll get there!

That’s probably a question every rehabber hears more times than s/he’d care to. Still, it’s a valid question. I mean, look at the facts rationally: rehabbers don’t get paid for their services; we lose time, sleep and money rehabbing; we’re subject to unannounced inspections from our state and federal permitting authorities; we have paperwork to maintain for annual reports to those agencies; people call us all hours of the day and night, year-round; we deal with people whose conduct and ignorance exasperate us; we see horrific injuries that we cannot repair; we lose animals that we thought we’d managed to save…

So…why DO we rehab? I have three stock answers I offer to people, depending on my level of exasperation and my perception of their intelligence level: 1) Insanity; 2) To try and compensate for general human stupidity concerning wildlife and the environment; and 3) To partially ameliorate the deleterious effects of human activity on our native flora and fauna.

I tend to rely heavily on #1 as my go-to explanation—it’s quicker. If the asker seems reasonably intelligent, I’ll escalate to #2. I won’t lie to you; I reserve #3 for pompous, arrogant types who need to be brought down a peg or two and those condescending types who think they know everything and who act like I work for them. I love the blank looks on their faces as they mentally try to decipher that phrase!

And then there are those who are just so clueless I don’t even know where to begin ranting about them—those types, I don’t even offer an explanation to. I try to talk to them as little as possible while I retrieve the wildlife needing my attention. One such example comes from this past week:

A caller says he has an unspecified hawk at a gas station in town. The hawk was hit by an 18-wheeler, and the caller hems and haws about actually TOUCHING the poor, injured bird to get it to me. Rehabber exasperation level: HIGH

I stop what I’m doing—which, by the way, is the editing that actually pays my bills—and head for the gas station to see what can be done for the hawk.

I get there and the caller and a buddy are standing there scratching their butts and picking their noses, staring at this poor hawk—a gorgeous mature female red tail—on the pavement. Rehabber irritation level: HIGH and escalating

THEN...I find out the damn driver who hit her isn't even there; he left Frick and Frack to deal with her. And it's actually a good thing he's not there at this point, because the doofus who called me says the absent driver hit her in SAVANNAH. That's 100 miles away from our current location. He drove ONE HUNDRED MILES with this injured RT plastered to his grille and it never occurred to his dim little brain to stop and remove her and see how bad the injuries were—and I suppose that was actually a good thing, since if he had, she might have been dumped by the road to die, given his obvious lack of concern for her welfare. Had dumbass driver actually been present, several of my local friends might have been pooling resources to go my bail…at the very least, he would have gotten a severe and quite profane tongue-lashing. Rehabber anger level: OFF THE CHARTS

And then one of the big, brave men who observed as I picked up an unresisting, shocky RT had the temerity to ask, “I don’t have to pay anything for this, do I?” Rehabber contempt level: Approaching critical mass

I understand that birds fly out in front of vehicles and that sometimes hitting them is unavoidable, but damn, people—stop and check on the bird; don't just keep driving! I just keep imagining the sheer terror this poor bird experienced plastered to the front of that grille...for 100 miles…

Her wing was shattered; there was nothing we could do. And yes, it sucked big-time. 

Two days later, another caller has a barred owl. In this case, the caller is observant enough to realize that the bird in his yard is just not acting right. He calls the game warden, who gives him my number. In this case, the caller not only boxed the bird before even calling me; he even got the bird to me. Here we have someone who doesn’t piss around when he sees wildlife in need, and I’d like to thank him publicly for his quick action on this owl’s behalf.

To be honest, I’m still not sure what’s going on with this barred owl. Nothing’s broken; he seems to hear and see just fine; he eats well—and on his own. But he just sits in the corner of the box, usually facing the corner, unless he’s eating. It’s too early in the year for West Nile, or I’d actually guess he might be in its early stages. I dunno; I’m giving him more time to see if we can figure out what his issue is.

The downy great horned owl is still a guest; we haven’t managed the transfer yet. Aside from the amused exasperation he generates just because he’s a GHO, he’s doing just fine and eating quite well. He’s not inhaling the food now, as it’s finally sunk in that he has a steady supply of rodents. 

And finally, the youngest flying squirrel opened her eyes last night/this morning (one last night; the other this morning)! She’s eating well and growing nicely—see that tail starting to look like a real little flyer tail?! 

Returning to the question I led with, why do rehabbers do what we do? Our love for wildlife, plain and simple. We can’t always fix all that’s wrong, but we can ensure a humane and painless death for those we can’t fix. And for the ones we can help—well, seeing them return to their natural environment, to lead the lives Nature intended for them…it’s a feeling that’s just indescribable.

…for all friends of wildlife to come to the aid of their local rehabber(s). To paraphrase a famous quote, slightly—sorry; couldn’t resist. But I digress…

For some rehabbers, depending on location and species rehabbed, baby season has been underway for a good month or more, due to the spring squirrel breeding season; for those of us who do mostly birds, our baby season is just around the corner—and indeed, downy great horned owls are beginning to show up already. What can you do to help?

Rehabbers need—no, rehabbers LOVE—volunteers. Any time of the year, a volunteer is a great thing; during baby season, when meeting someone to pick up a baby bird would mean loading up every other baby bird in our care, having someone who can pick up and transport is beyond amazing. Even someone to help clean caging would be a huge help—and the training process for both is short, simple and free. So if you’re interested in helping your local rehabber(s) this year, give ‘em a call and see about volunteer opportunities!

The weather prevented the flyers from going into the pre-release caging last week. The weather’s prevented me from doing a lot of stuff I needed to have done this fall and winter and now, with baby season around the corner, I’ll be scrambling to play “catch-up”…par for the course.

But lookie here what we had come in last Sunday: another flyer, a little female, 2-3 weeks old at time of intake. She’s the youngest flyer I’ve had to date, and she’s just adorable. Of course. As if flyers have any other personality!

Another downy GHO also ended up at LWR after a pack of free-roaming dogs killed his mother. As best the rescuers can guess, baby fell from nest, dogs converged, and Mama GHO flew down like an avenging angel to protect her baby. Hearing the commotion, rescuers intervened to save the baby, but it was too late for Mama. She did manage to inflict serious injuries on several of the dogs, the people said. They looked for a couple of days after bringing me this little guy for other babies, as just one in the nest is unusual, but no others surfaced. This little guy was quite voracious the first couple of days…

This little red-phase screech may be the luckiest owl in the world. He flew straight into a young woman’s vehicle, wedging his head between the hood and the grille. Believe it or not, aside from a massive concussion, he was uninjured! Vision and hearing fine; no broken bones—I mean, really—what a lucky bird! Some pain meds initially, and then food and rest for a few days, and he was good to go! 

And just today, this black vulture came in. They’re slightly smaller but more aggressive than turkey vultures—and okay, let’s be honest, they’re also slightly better looking! His rescuers said he wouldn’t fly although he’d spread both wings. He walked around, and near dark, when they went out to catch him, he was sitting in water—not bathing, just sitting there in the water in the twilight. Weird… He’s thinnish but alert and aggressive. Nothing appears to be broken, but he sits back on his hocks, and his poop looks a little off, which is worrisome. I always worry that raptors coming in with vague symptoms got hold of poisoned carcasses or maybe ingested lead shot from their prey…We’ll see how he does tonight and go from there.

And finally, we’re trying the Ruby Tuesday fundraiser a little differently this time. For three days this go-round, from March 15-17, anyone who presents the flyer (click on link below) to their server at the Dublin Ruby Tuesday will have 20% of the total cost of their meal donated to Laurens Wildlife Rescue. So all you local folks, please share this flyer and help support our work. Print it out and make copies for your friends and co-workers. I mean, really—how easy can it be to support us this way? You eat out, something you’re gonna do at some point anyway, and part of your meal price is donated to LWR! 

I hear that so often when people bring me birds, usually followed by “I’m such an animal lover.” And then the question comes: “How do you get licensed to do this?”

I briefly explain the process: purchase the study materials, schedule and take the exam, have facilities inspected, number of hours of “apprenticeship” with a licensed bird rehabber required by the feds to work with birds, etc.

So far, so good—that never seems to faze people; it’s all doable. Then I explain the reality of a rehabber’s world. I don’t do this to discourage people from becoming rehabbers, but I also don’t want fly-by-nighters, who decide after a year or two they just can’t do this anymore because it’s too time-consuming; nor do I want the folks with a Disneyfied dream of “playing” with wild animals all day.  And I certainly don’t want the folks who think they can make money rehabbing—as rehabbers know all too well, that ain’t the case. And if the interested party can’t handle blood and gore and making the decisions to euthanize mortally injured or unreleasable wildlife, then they don’t need to waste their time…or anyone else’s.

So after I explain the basic “how-to”, I launch into my spiel about the demands rehab makes on your time and budget. I point out that people expect help with their wildlife, but they seldom donate to its care while in rehab—and yet they’ll call/email constantly to ask how “their” critter is doing. I explain that people aren’t always willing to bring critters needing rehab to you; in fact, some are downright rude about it, demanding that you come pick up said critter—after all, their tax dollars pay your salary. That one always gets a belly laugh from me—I have to ask, “So you don’t pay taxes, then? Because I damn sure don’t get a salary!”

And then I discuss the gruesome side of rehab: the birds that come in with their crops ripped open; the maggot-infested wounds; the blackened ends of bones and reek of infection from an open fracture; the frustration of struggling to save a bird and thinking you’ve pulled it off, only to find the bird dead the next morning…

Most people leave with their tails between their legs. I sigh and get back to work and hope maybe the next interested party will have what it takes to stick with it and become “one of us.” As I said, I don’t do this to discourage people, because God knows we need more properly trained and permitted rehabbers out there. No, I do it to provide a realistic look at what rehabbers do, so that anyone who continues down this path does so with their eyes wide open as to what they’re getting into.

Yes, it can be rewarding. Yes, it can occasionally be fun. But it can also be incredibly frustrating and emotionally draining, and anyone who thinks they might want to become a rehabber needs to know that up front.

Off the soapbox and onto the update:

The barred owl is still with us. He does seem to be responding to sound now, but I’m still unsure about those eyes. Really bad concussions can sometimes screw up vision for several weeks, so he’s got a little while longer before I make a decision as to his fate. I’m still hoping for a miracle—hoping but not optimistic. 

This gorgeous adult male red shouldered hawk was found in a yard, sitting with his head tucked in broad daylight. The caller knew this wasn’t normal and boxed the bird for transport.  Upon his arrival, it was obvious what the immediate cause of his lethargy was—he was rail-thin, with a keel so sharp you could cut yourself on it. Whether this starvation was secondary to frounce or capillaria was less obvious, but I began treatment for both, along with small, frequent feedings. Within 12 hours or so, he was standing with his head untucked, but then he started throwing up his food and none of the standard procedures for halting this worked.  Less than 12 hours after the vomiting began, he died.

And today, a caller said he had a small, grayish hawk with a broken wing. The size and color description matched both mature Cooper’s hawks and sharp-shinned hawks, and even his estimate of size—about pigeon-sized— wasn’t a sure identifier, as a large female sharpie and a small male Coop can be about the same size. I have no shame admitting that Coops and sharpies are hard for me to differentiate at times. Upon intake, I decided this was a sharpie—and a well-fleshed one, at that. However, the left wing had an open fracture right at the joint in the “armpit.” There was nothing to be done for this bird, and I don’t mind admitting that having to euthanize a well-fleshed, alert, feisty bird because of a fatal wing fracture sucked, pure and simple.

The three youngest flyers are temporarily in with the four that came in around November. My goal this coming week is to get all 10 flyers into the pre-release caging. One of the really neat things about flyers is their very social behavior. There is no way I could have put new gray squirrels into an older group; the barking, scolding and chattering would have commenced apace, and they would have attacked each other.

Not so with flyers. Even though I gave the youngest three their own separate nest box, situated away from the older four, by morning all seven were in one big pile of happy flyers. They’re such gentle little loves!