Yes, the sandhill cranes are still making LWR and the family farm their very own private cranedom, which means more photos and videos to share with you. And these are just my favorites of over 1000 photos. Obsessed? Me? Naaah…

I did speak with Anne from International Crane Foundation early last week, and after we stopped laughing at my predicament, she said LWR’s stilt-legged guests would leave when they got ready so to just enjoy them while they’re here and not worry too much unless they’re still hanging around come May or June.

With that said, here are more sandhill pix and vids for your viewing pleasure!

The couple who brought me this cat-attacked dove Monday were distraught. Their cats are actually indoors but one slipped out and did this damage before they could catch it. The photos were taken after euthanasia; the dove was suffering too much to attempt photos while it was still living. 

On Tuesday, LWR received a call and a text within minutes of each other about a “baby” hawk downtown in a city about 50 miles away. It’s too early for downy hawks and it seemed unlikely that it was a downy owl, so I guessed it was probably a small adult hawk—a Cooper’s hawk or a sharp-shinned hawk—that had hit a window. When LWR volunteers Amy and Laurie coordinated with each other to get the bird to LWR, we discovered we had a very out-of-it whippoorwill.  My area of Middle Georgia has chuck-will’s widows; 50 miles to the north, where this bird was found, has both species of nightjars.

Unfortunately, this poor fellow never opened his eyes. He couldn’t swallow and was severely emaciated, so rather than a window strike, I really suspect he was migrating and simply crashed from sheer exhaustion and starvation. Migration, as gorgeous as it can be when large flocks of birds fly over or land to eat or roost, is a very dangerous time for birds. Not all survive the trip, and this poor bird didn’t.

No photos of the barred owl, red-tailed hawk or cedar waxwing this week; all are doing well and continuing to improve, albeit more slowly than I’d like for the cedar waxwing.

The gray squirrel’s eyes opened this week and he’s started nibbling a bit at solid food, but he still mostly sleeps. That will be the case for another week or so, and then his activity level will pick up considerably.

And while I normally don’t do “fur” aside from flying squirrels, when vet Shelley Baumann of Happy Tails Mobile Vet Clinic called me about four eyes-closed Eastern cottontails someone had dumped on her—literally following her clinic van to give her the babies—I couldn’t  say no, even though we both acknowledged that their chances are slim. Whether in the wild or in a rehab setting, the average survival rate for baby rabbits is 10%. Yep, you read that right—10%. That’s why rabbits breed—well, like rabbits!  However, rabbits mature fairly quickly, if they survive at all, so these babies will be outta here before baby birds begin coming in.

When people at a regional lake found this osprey by the roadside, they called DNR, who referred them to LWR. The finders were concerned and hopeful his obviously broken wing could be repaired, but I wasn’t real optimistic upon seeing the damage, which included an open fracture. Upon examining his wing, vet Peggy Hobby of Smalley’s Animal Hospital agreed, stating that basically every bone in his wrist was trashed.  There was no need to x-ray this one; the damage could be felt and seen.  We guessed that he’d flown into a power line at just the right angle to shatter his wrist and nearly shear it off. The photos were taken in the exam room before Peggy came in to check him out, and we opted for euthanasia based on the severity of the wounds.

The people who found this adult male belted kingfisher tangled in fishing line were app. 50 miles from two federally licensed rehabbers and drove the bird to a vet clinic 100 miles away, from whence he had to make the trip back to LWR, courtesy of volunteers Amy, Laurie and Marshall. Aside from stress after his two days of riding, he’s a very lucky bird in that the injuries to his wing are minor. Peggy confirmed he had no fractures but likely some soft tissue trauma.

This is the first kingfisher who’s been a guest at LWR, so I called colleague Grace Krick in Connecticut for advice. Grace specializes in waterfowl, and I wanted to make sure my treatment plan was in line with what she’d recommend. After laughing with me about kingfishers’ HUGE attitudes, totally out of proportion to their small size (about the size of a blue jay), she confirmed that my intended treatment was pretty much what she’d do, so now it’s just a matter of hoping the soft tissue trauma resolves as it should, with no lingering issues for the little spitfire!

No updated photos of the flight pens this week, ‘cause it rained practically all week—messy, misty, drizzly nastiness that prevented any fill dirt being placed in. Plus I spent every spare moment that it wasn’t raining doing the crane paparazzi thing. Better weather predicted for next week, though, so I should be able to indulge my crane addiction while also getting the finishing touches on the flights.

As you’ll recall, last week’s big story was the pair of sandhill cranes spending a few days at the LWR B&B. No other flocks were located, so with the aid of Georgia DNR game warden Rodney Horne, this past week I released the sandhills on private property, where they seemed quite ecstatic to be free. Rodney and I thought it was a good release, anyway. 

That evening they were still hanging around the release site, but the next morning they’d disappeared. I was happy; the cranes were on their way to Parts Extreme North to breed. Mission accomplished!

And then…Saturday, four days after their release…they showed back up. Not at the release site. Nope. Back at LWR. Now, how they managed this is beyond me, ‘cause when they left here for the release site, they were in boxes in my car, and it’s a long, winding road to the site and then a long walk through the woods to the exact release spot—all in boxes for the birds.

So when my nephew Alex alerted me that they were in the field across from his house bright and early, while I was still feeding all the other LWR guests, my immediate reaction was swearing. How was this possible?  As soon as all the morning “rounds” were handled, I walked up to see for myself.

Yep. “My” cranes. I walked into the field, while they ignored me and ate. Then I asked them what they were doing back. And this is where it got positively surreal.

At the sound of my voice, the sandhills’ heads popped up in unison and they started toward me like dogs. What the…?

Okay, maybe they were hungry. But they were eating! Still… “Are y’all hungry? Okay, I’ll be right back with some food. Stay right here, okay?” I started to walk away, back home for food.  And then I turned around. The sandhills were hot on my heels, for all the world like puppy dogs following their master. My jaw dropped.  They’ll stop in a minute; they’re not really following  me.

Oh, but they were. Through the field, down the road, and into the back yard, where they hung around all morning. I put in calls to the International Crane Foundation and Operation Migration, hoping they could give me some clue as to what to do next, while taking photo after photo of the cranes. They were quite cooperative. And this being the weekend, both ICF and Operation Migration were closed…They’ll have interesting messages come Monday morning!

After dinner (lunch for you city folk), Alex, Daddy and I were going to get the doors up on the flight pens; they’d been working on the garden all morning, while I’d been amusing myself by taking more photos of the cranes than any reasonably sane person should. I figured once we got started bumbling around the yard, the cranes would fly away.

Nope.

They’d moved to the edge of my yard, where it adjoins the hay field, and were happily digging in the muck remaining from the last rain. 

Then, while we worked, they moved farther along the edge of the hay field, into the shade, where they napped contentedly through the remainder of the afternoon, only leaving when we were about done with the flight doors—and then only heading back to the field they’d been in that morning, and not long there. I started up that way to check on them after we were done with the flights, and they were already in the pasture between my parents’ and nephew’s houses, headed back to my yard.

This time they didn’t stay long; it was getting close to dusk. They ate a bit, got restless, and suddenly flew away—I presume back to their release site several miles away to roost for the night, as they headed back in that general direction.

And bright and early on this overcast, drizzly day, the guests who refuse to leave were back. Apparently  the accommodations at LWR are ideal, with “his’n’hers” sinks…

Now, the question on everybody’s mind at this point—mine included—is, “Are these birds imprinted?” The answer? I don’t know. They hang around people like they might be but they don’t want to be touched, so they may be just severely habituated. The one thing that does seem to be fairly certain is that their “migrators” don’t work!

Even without the drama the sandhills introduced to the week, it was one of those weeks.

Early in the week, LWR received a barred owl who’d spent three days with an individual not licensed for raptors. The owl, an adult male, had been pulled off a barbed wire fence and his left wing was chewed up from the fence. This individual gummed up the feathers with ointment, slapped a wadded, non-sterile paper towel under the wing, and proceeded to wrap it against the body as if it were a fracture—with some sort of REALLY sticky tape that pulled out wads of feathers when I pulled it off to properly treat the wound.

The bird hadn’t eaten in at least three days when he came in; he was on the verge of a nasty infection from the half-arse job done on the injury, and we still didn’t know if anything was broken, so off to Smalley’s Animal Hospital we went.

Luckily, the x-ray showed no fractures, although you can clearly see a huge fleck of metal still hung in his feathers from the fence. The skin was ripped off the bicep, though, and the wrist was also raw. Vets Peggy Hobby and Richie Hatcher recommended that I allow the poor owl to preen all the ointment out of his own feathers as he felt like it, rather than us adding to his stress and pain by attempting to wash it out while his wounds were still so raw.

Now that he’s on meds to prevent infection and is getting fed, his wing is looking better and he’s more alert. See how much brighter his eyes look? (The black gunk in the feathers is the ointment, which it’ll take him forever to preen out…)

It’s gonna be a long haul; his wounds are nasty. But we’re reasonably sure he’ll recover.

Unfortunately the turkey vulture caught in this leg-hold trap wasn’t as lucky.

Game warden Rodney Horne called the day after the barred owl came in and asked if I could take a vulture that he’d received a call on and was on his way to attempt to capture. The caller said the vulture flew into his yard dragging a leg-hold trap. When Rodney arrived with the bird, he’d already removed the trap and said he had the difficult task of explaining to the caller, who was infuriated that anyone could do this to a bird, that the poor vulture could have flown five miles or fifty yards with the trap on his leg; there was no way to determine where it had come from so there was no way to prosecute the person who’d placed the trap.

The foot was nearly severed; there was nothing to do but end the vulture’s suffering humanely.

And then, late in the week, this first year red-tailed hawk came in. She’s a small female who was in a less-than-optimal environment for three days after being found by the roadside, so when she arrived at LWR she was quite traumatized, as these photos clearly show.

She still flinches  if I make sudden movements around her. As for her injuries,  her pupil reaction in both eyes is sluggish, so there’s still some lingering head trauma, and she appeared to have capillaria on intake, so we’re treating for that. Her appetite is excellent (inhaled three mice this morning!) and she’s perching except when I go to feed her, so I’m fairly optimistic about her recovery.

The cedar waxwing, three weeks out, is better but not flight-ready yet. I’m giving him one more week, even though most coracoid fractures heal to allow flight in three weeks. He’s not giving up, so I won’t give up on him just yet.

The cat-attacked squirrel that was “gonna die anyway” has nearly doubled his intake weight in the past week and his lower incisors have come in. His eyes should open in another week or so. Ain’t it grand what proper meds can do?

And as I mentioned earlier, my father, my nephew Alex and I got the doors hung on both flight pens, so now it’s just the little detailing stuff that’s left to do: fill dirt and perches, etc. I’m not sure who was happier to finally get to this point, me or them! Those flights sure do look good with doors now, though…

Never has there been a week where “it takes a village” was truer! All told, over a dozen people were involved in one way or another in two rescues this week; details below:

When LWR initially received word that a “big bird” was in an area fast food parking lot, several counties away, I explained to several callers what needed to be done to get the bird to me. It took a DNR biologist and two LWR volunteers working together to actually get the bird to LWR, however, with the biologist fearing it had a wing fracture.

And what was the bird that caused all the ruckus? A migrating sandhill crane!

With the crane on the way, I’d also contacted colleague Kathryn Dudeck of Chattahoochee Nature Center, who’d dealt with a few sandhills in the past, although she works primarily with raptors and reptiles. She alerted me to the fairly calm nature of sandhills, which was lovely to hear, and we agreed, based on my description of his wing positioning and movement upon intake, that we didn’t think he had any broken bones—or at least, no serious breaks.  And he was indeed a calm guest, making himself quite comfy in the rehab bathroom until I could get him to Smalley’s Animal Hospital the next morning. 

He made himself right at home on the exam table, much to vet Richie Hatcher’s amusement. While the sandhill played peek-a-boo with his reflection in the framed print you see on the wall in the clinic photo below, Richie and I “geared up” for the x-ray…and then things got…interesting…

You see, the sandhill wasn’t thrilled that we “manhandled” him so rudely: I had his head and feet; Richie had his wings and body; the sandhill had had enough. He scratched Richie and buried a claw deep in my arm, but we by-God got our x-rays. And the rehab gods smiled on us: he had no fractures!

So with this good news,  our feathered friend’s mug shot was posted on Facebook with a note that we needed to find him a flock to migrate with, ASAP. While plenty of people liked and shared his gorgeous likeness, the only call LWR got was from a volunteer who’d located yet another sandhill. This one was raiding a family’s bird feeder and attempting to make love to its reflection in their patio door. Not good…

The volunteer spent the better part of her day driving to sandhill 2’s location and hemming it up to be boxed for transport. She met other volunteers who “ponied” the second sandhill to LWR, where we immediately placed her in the pen with our older-by-a-day guest.  He had been vocalizing frantically, but when his new paramour entered the pen, he was gobsmacked by her beauty and immediately began the purring vocalization that even those of us with no prior sandhill experience recognized as conversation. 

Sandhill cranes are highly social birds; whatever caused these two to lag behind their flocks left them without the “mob mentality” they apparently needed to continue their migration almost to Canada. At least, that’s our working  theory at the moment.

So…to Facebook again to reiterate the plea for calls about larger flocks to integrate these two into. Our plan was to find a flock coming in to roost for the night and place these birds with that flock, so they’d all leave together the next morning.

In the meantime, I’d contacted the two major crane research groups in North America, Operation Migration in Ontario and the International Crane Foundation in Wisconsin. Heather at Operation Migration and Anne at ICF liked Plan A, above, so I asked about our proposed Plan B—to release the pair as a “flock of 2” if necessary. Both researchers said with two birds this was feasible and acceptable, although Anne with ICF did recommend keeping them a few days to give them time to pair-bond since they were already doing the purring and sticking pretty close to each other.

Now, to address the question on everyone’s minds, we know the original sandhill is male because of his weight—a whopping 10 pounds! While the female wasn’t weighed, she’s slightly shorter than the male and has a more compact body. And if nothing else had clued us in, their love at first sight routine would have—ahhh, the joys of spring and hormonal birds!

With no word on any large flocks nearby, we’re set to implement Plan B within the next couple of days and wish these lovebirds well as they head north for breeding season.

As I mentioned to begin with, some dozen people were involved in rescuing these birds: DNR biologist Todd; volunteers Amy, Lindsey, Laurie and Marshall; Kathryn at Chattahoochee; the wonderful folks at Smalley’s Animal Hospital, especially Richie, Christy and Autumn;  Heather at Operation Migration; Anne at ICF; all the folks who shared the Facebook posts to help search for a large flock; and I’m sure there are other people who were peripherally involved that I’m not aware of. To all of you, thank you for caring enough to help these gorgeous, graceful, amazing birds.

It wasn’t all sweetness and light at LWR last week, though. As most of you probably know, LWR’s focus has shifted through the years to primarily birds and flying squirrels.  The voicemail message for the LWR phone line indicates this and provides help in finding other rehabbers in the state, but people frequently leave messages about species we’re not taking. This happened last week, and I returned the call to assist the rescuer. She had a gray squirrel, eyes closed, that she’d taken from a cat late the previous evening. I explained again that LWR’s focus was primarily birds and flying squirrels and referred her to another rehabber, urging her to call me back if she couldn’t get that person on the phone within a reasonable time frame, as the squirrel would need meds ASAP.

I wasn’t prepared for what happened next.

Fifteen minutes later, she called back. The rehabber I’d blithely and trustingly referred her to for help told her that "cat-attacked squirrels don't usually live anyway" and refused to take it. OH. MY. GOD. You have no idea what that did to my blood pressure.

I told the rescuer that if the squirrel had no serious puncture wounds he had a VERY good chance at survival with the proper meds and that I'd meet her and take this poor baby. I mean, the lady was trying to do the right thing; she said the squirrel was active and it only had scratches. I could not in good conscience let her sit there and watch it die from TREATABLE injuries.

The approximately four-week-old male gray squirrel was slightly dehydrated on intake and his belly and flanks were scratched up but he readily took formula and his wounds are already almost completely healed. He’s also gained over 10g since intake and wiggles about excitedly when he hears me open his little cage to feed him.  

Folks, lest there be any confusion on this, let me explain as clearly as I can: rehab is NOT about taking only the critters that will survive and the photogenic rascals who make you look good. If that's why a person becomes a rehabber--to "look good" and feed their ego--they need to get the hell out of the biz and stop ruining the reputations of those of us who're in it for the RIGHT reason: to help wildlife, even when that help takes the form of euthanasia—which, in this guy’s case wasn’t needed because HE GOT MEDS. ‘Tain’t rocket science, people, and any rehabber worth his or her salt should know this simple fact: meds save lives.

In more worrying news, the cedar waxwing, while getting increasingly restless, still has no real lift. He is fluttering farther before drifting to the ground but once he’s grounded he makes no attempt to fly.  Coracoid fractures usually heal to allow unfettered flight, but there are always exceptions. I’m beginning to suspect this guy might be that exception. I hope not; I hope to have good news to report on him next week. But the doubts keep rising…

And despite a week of utterly crappy weather,  my nephew Alex, my father and I did manage to get the remainder of the predator guard down in the raptor flight and doors ready to hang on both flights. That leaves the pea gravel and fill dirt, perch installation and other minor tasks easily handled by one person, so…by next weekend I hope to have these pens fully ready for use!

‘Cause that’s the release average for this past week!

The switch finally flipped for the red shoulder and he remembered he was a raptor, a fierce bird of prey, and not a lovely thawed-rodent-consuming tchotchke. This is something rehabbers try to stress to people who think injured birds—especially raptors—they’ve found are “so calm” or “so sweet”. Often it’s because they’re still stressed, concussed or in shock. And sometimes it can last a good, long while.

In the red shoulder’s case, I was honestly beginning to wonder if he was a former falconry bird (yes, falconers will  hunt with red-shouldered hawks, although they prefer red tails) who’d been poorly trained and then released. I’d even gotten a little complacent, lifting his whole perch out with him on it when I changed his paper.

And then…mid-week, in the midst of a paper change, he wigged out and asserted that he was, in fact, a hawk, dammit! He then began eating his own mice, thank you very much, and glaring at me when I checked on him—in short, now that he remembered who he was, he was ready to leave the LWR B&B, yesterday, if possible.

But it rained…and it rained…and FINALLY, we had an overcast but rain-free day, with several consecutive rain-free days predicted. The red shoulder was a happy camper!

Unfortunately, the cedar waxwing wasn’t as lucky.  His early-week release attempt, before the rain set in, was a wash. He fluttered straight to the  ground, leading me to believe he has a coracoid fracture. If you’ll recall, these are fractures that don’t often show on x-rays, and there’s no way to set them. They usually heal on their own with no lasting effects on the bird’s flight, as long as said bird remains confined for several weeks to limit movement.

So CW is back at LWR for the next few weeks. He really doesn’t seem to mind, as I indicated last week.  He has unlimited access to delectable goodies and has definitely settled on his favorites. Some birds learn quickly to make the best of a bad situation. CW knows he can’t fly; he knows he’s toast on the ground outside, and he’s figured out that while he’s inside he’s safe and well-fed. Whoever decided “bird-brain” was an insult had obviously never spent any time around these amazingly smart creatures.

Work on the flight pens continues, and now pretty much anyone who shows up is pressed into service! My nephew Alex has been amazing the past two weekends, helping me after two consecutive weeks of overtime at his “paying” job. And this weekend his wife Brooke and her friend Nicole pitched in, as well. We’ve got the predator guard left to finish on the raptor flight and the doors on both the raptor and songbird flights to hang; after that it will be finishing touches that I’ll be able to manage on my own.

And finally, a rant—of course. What would an update be without at least a mild rant, right? Yesterday I received a voicemail from a neighboring county about a bird in a business parking lot. Could I help? I called the person back and explained that if they could capture the bird I would be more than willing to assess and treat it.  I could tell from their tone of voice this wasn’t gonna happen, and sure enough, they never called me back.

I CLEARLY state in my voicemail message that the caller needs to be willing AND able to transport the wildlife to LWR, yet people leave messages all the time wanting me to come pick up injured wildlife.

Folks, rehabbers do NOT get paid for our services. We’re not on the city, county, state, or federal payroll. In other words, your tax dollars don’t pay our salaries because we don’t receive salaries. We are LICENSED VOLUNTEERS. And yes, I’m aware that all that’s a bit repetitious, but I know of no other way to get the point across.

If rehabbers drove to search for and capture every critter we received a call about, we’d have no time to actually rehab anything. Or money, for that matter, as all our funds would go toward keeping the car gassed up to chase down critters who would then die from lack of food or treatment because we’d be off in chase of another critter someone else had called about.  Sometimes we have volunteers in an area who can both capture and transport for us; this caller was in an area where LWR has no such volunteers.

My point—and I do have one—is that if you’re so concerned about injured wildlife that you contact a rehabber, be aware that you’ll need to find a way to get that wildlife to us. Just calling and telling us the wildlife is “by the side of the road on Route 66” or “in the parking lot at XYZ  Store” or wherever and expecting us to drop what we’re doing—which is probably caring for other injured wildlife—isn’t doing a thing but assuaging your conscience: “Look at what a good person I am; I called and reported that injured bird. That mean ol’ rehabber just doesn’t care, or s/he would come get that poor bird.”

Nope. We care—deeply—and you’ve just added to our stress levels—which are already through the roof—by reporting an injured animal that we can’t help because you won’t make the effort to get it to us.

Bottom line: If you’re concerned enough to call a rehabber about injured wildlife, carry that concern a step further and be willing to transport it to the rehabber, as well. We can’t be everywhere all the time.

First, join with me in celebrating the screech owl’s release—finally!  To paraphrase a line from “Charlie Brown”, of all the screeches I’ve worked with, he was the screechiest. Even when he was free to go he had to be a little snot about it, sitting on the glove forever—a full 5 minutes—before I gave up and lowered the camera. Then the aggravating little rascal gave me one last glare and flew off, disappearing into the planted pines out of sight behind us in the video below. So…yeah, he was released and no, there’s no video of the actual release. Thank Mr. Uncooperative for that!

The red shoulder is still a guest at the LWR B&B, primarily because he refuses to fully self-feed. As long as the food is offered via forceps, he’s an eager eater—see vids below. If he drops any in his box, however, he looks at it and then looks at me…and waits for me to pick it up and hand it to him again. He’s very alert now but hasn’t uttered a peep, which is odd. Red shoulders are normally mouthy little raptors. So for now, we observe and debate the cause of his odd behavior…Fellow raptor rehabber Steve Hicks and I have been tossing around a few possibilities, but until we’re more convinced, I’m not throwing ‘em out here yet.

When the call came about a “crane” down at a local private pond, it was a pretty sure bet what the caller actually had was a heron of some species. It turned out to be a great blue heron, too emaciated and weak to stand. As a general rule, when great blues reach this point, it’s a done deal. Every rehabber I know who’s worked with them has had the same experience—when they’re too weak to stand, you might as well call it. He died before sunset, while I was debating whether to euthanize or give him the night to see what would happen.

Of course, work continued on the raptor flight pen, with my nephew Alex, my father and me putting the screen in place on the latticework “roof” and placing it on the top, as well as getting the roofing tin up.  To be honest, Alex did the “heavy lifting”; Daddy & I handled the lesser tasks. It’s looking good, and weather permitting, we plan to get the hardware cloth on the outside and down as a predator guard on the inside this week.

It was 54°F the day we worked on the raptor flight, so when Daddy’s dog began barking and growling at something in the grass nearby, we thought it was probably a mouse or a mole. To our surprise it was a small king snake, which I snatched up and relocated to safety while Alex held the dog back.

When the call came in about a possibly gunshot hawk, I began mentally running down the list of all the DNR and FWS people I needed to inform. As it turns out, the adult male red-tailed hawk wasn’t gunshot but he was ripped open. He was found in a pen with dogs and although the finders said they saw no signs that their dogs had attacked him, after a careful examination, I suspect that’s what happened. It seems to be the most likely scenario, at any rate. His right wing was broken, open fracture, with a good inch and a half of bone exposed, and the flesh beneath the wing and down that side of the body was torn away. The poor bird was still alert and feisty despite the damage, but there was nothing to be done except humanely euthanize him.

On the same day, a caller sought help for a cedar waxwing she’d found grounded in her yard the previous evening. My first thought was that he was just drunk from over-indulging in the berries she said were prevalent in her yard, but she had tried to release him before calling me that morning, and he just sat in the yard and shivered. Since it had been about 12 hours  (overnight) since he’d eaten when she attempted the release, his behavior wasn’t normal. Upon getting this gorgeous fellow, I discovered he was rail-thin. Since these birds are migrating at the moment, some thinness is to be expected, but this was borderline starvation-thin. He probably reached her yard with his flock and just didn’t have the strength to leave. And since we had several days of rainy, cold weather predicted beginning on the day his rescuer called me, “CW” is gonna spend a few days at the LWR B&B, where he can eat all the fruit he wants in a safe, dry, warm environment. He doesn’t seem unhappy in the least about his temporary digs!