Wanna hear about just part of my morning? Feet hit the ground at 6:30; start feeding birds. Three need to be in the flight pen today; one needs medication; one needs to be released. Get everybody fed, first round of the day. Change paper after all AM poops. Move birds to flight pen and make sure there’s enough fresh food and water there. Box up bird ready for release—waterfowl, so must drive to river. Feed inside birds and top off flight-penners. Drive to river, release waterfowl. Come home, feed all birds…again…clean cages of flight-penned birds so they’re ready for their next inmates. Look for some new enrichment toys for crow; he’s bored with the ones from yesterday already. Feed birds again. Oh, and gulp a protein shake for breakfast in between all this…It’s now 8:30. I haven’t combed my hair, brushed my teeth, put in my contacts or put on any makeup yet, but by God the birds are taken care of—for another half hour, anyway!  And this is a slow morning…

After a slight lull there, with few new intakes, this week saw an influx of guests at the LWR B&B.

First, though, let’s start with last week’s mystery (to you) bird. Everybody should know by now that he’s a blue jay! He was only a couple of days old when he was found on the ground, so as of today he’s about 12 days old.  Look at the photos below, snapped every two days, to see how he’s grown in just a week! (Go back to last week’s update to remind yourself what he looked like on June 23, two days before this photo sequence started.) And as you can see in the video clips, he’s preening away at the keratin sheaths over his feathers!

The Eastern phoebe is in the flight pen as of this morning and seems quite happy to be outside now.

Male blue grosbeaks are absolutely breathtaking, as you can see. This guy came in with a wing injury, right at the wrist, that had already healed in the wild. He wasn’t able to fly properly but was eating well, so since I had major editing deadlines, I delayed his euthanasia for several days.  When I took him to Smalley’s Animal Hospital for vet Jim Hobby to euthanize, to our delight and amazement, he flew out of the box and across the room! Our dear grosbeak is now in the flight pen, where he’ll stay a while as he builds his stamina back up.

I’ve always heard green herons called “little green herons.” I have no clue why, as it’s pretty obvious you’re not looking at a great blue heron when you see these little rascals! This juvenile was rescued as he was being attacked by cattle egrets. He had a small puncture wound on his chest but was otherwise unscathed…and uncouth. I thought great blues were ill-tempered, aggressive snots, but noooo…this guy took the prize for being a vicious little cuss. 

Because he wasn’t eating on his own to begin with, I had the great pleasure (yeah, right!) of hand-feeding him…He’d scream and lunge at my hands with that dagger-like beak; I’d grab him anyway and stuff some fish in his beak…He was well-fed; my hands looked like I was some sort of medieval torture victim. (I know—GLOVES! But you don’t have the proper dexterity with gloves, or at least, I don’t.) Below is a clip of me attempting to snag his little butt to feed him...

Happily, he soon realized that he could feed himself and avoid all the drama, so as soon as I was convinced he was truly self-feeding, I took Mr. “I hate your guts, lady” to the river. I was all set, camcorder on and in my hand, as I opened the box…and he shot out like an irascible cannonball, straight over the river…I did manage to catch the really crappy short video below as he disappeared before I could even zoom!

As you well know by now, I urge people to leave fledglings alone and let their parents finish raising them—unless they’re in imminent danger. This blue jay was picked up, kept inside for the night, and fed nothing for half the next day, so when I received the call on him, I didn’t even risk leaving him with the callers to be placed back outside. He needed nutrition and hydration at this point.

Luckily, blue jays are intelligent birds, so he figured out very quickly that I was his new “parent” and he and I are getting along famously. He was another of this morning’s transfers to the flight pen.

(I know--I've GOT to find a good video editing program!)

When the call came from a pharmacy in town that there was a fledgling crow running around their parking lot, I figured it was a grackle. I haven’t been lucky enough to have a crow in rehab in several years.  We discussed the situation. He’d been there for two days and was running all under parked cars and near the road…I made an executive decision (what? I *am* president of LWR, so technically I *am* an executive!) and told them to box him up and bring him on, still figuring it was a grackle.

When I received the bird, I took one look and started grinning. “I’ll be damned; it IS a crow!” And the decision to intervene was the right one. He was rail-thin, ravenous and massively thirsty. He perched on his water dish and drained it dry as soon as I got him home. He’s still not real sure he trusts me, but we’re getting there…

Sometimes it seems no weekly update would be complete without yet another mocker…This little fellow was found in the middle of the road and his finders were perplexed that there was no nest in sight. Mockers’ feet work before their brains or wings do, unfortunately. When they fall from the nest, instead of remaining where they fell, they wander off and end up in the most unusual places…roads, parking lots…

Calls from people who’ve found birds by the roadside rarely end well, as they’ve usually been hit by a vehicle and are fatally injured.  So when the call came in for this bird, I wasn’t really hopeful. I’d pick it up, assess the damage and plan for the euthanasia that would probably be needed.

To my surprise, the finder handed me a bird I didn’t recognize, but the excitement at a previously un-rehabbed and unknown species was tempered by the fact that her left wing had been sheared off at the “wrist.” It was a fresh wound, still bleeding. I guessed the side-view mirror caught her, ripped off her wing and flung her to the shoulder of the road.

First things first—bleeding must be stopped and wound cleaned to see just how bad the damage actually was. Then I’d see about IDing her before I had to put her down.

She was obviously in shock as I cleaned and treated the wing and started her on meds. Once she was stable, I grabbed my Sibley’s and my Birds of Georgia and discovered that I had a yellow-billed cuckoo, common in Georgia during breeding season, but extremely shy and heard more often than seen. They’re also called “rain crows”.

This slender-bodied, elegant looking bird was sitting in a box with part of her wing missing. If she didn’t die from shock or blood loss, what were her chances? She’d probably never fly again, but would she make a good educational bird, given that they’re described as shy?

My questions are slowly being answered. Several hours after intake, she escaped from her fleece-covered box and managed a short flight across the rehab room—and while I was ecstatic to see her fly even a bit, I was less thrilled that she started her wing bleeding again. Two days later, she’s alert and the wound is scabbed over nicely.  Today I offered her a low, broad perch and she’s using it. I had been holding her to hand-feed her the same nutrient-dense formula I feed baby songbirds; today I tried offering the syringe and letting her take it in her beak on her own. Smart bird that she is, she’s taking the syringe feedings without me having to hold her!

Her future is still uncertain. She could still suddenly develop an infection. She could die from the stress of captivity. She’ll probably never again fly well enough to make the annual migration to South America for the winter; her flight will likely never be good enough for that. On the flip side, she’s doing well enough now that I’m cautiously optimistic that she’ll survive and given her very calm demeanor right now (which could change drastically as she heals), she might make an excellent educational bird.

What I do know for sure right now is that I’m utterly captivated by this feathered beauty!

Remember last week’s “Carolina wren” who lost all her siblings, two when the nest fell and one from injuries sustained when the nest fell? I knew something about the bird didn’t quuiiite look right for a Caro, but I shrugged it off. Caro it is, sez I.

Except it ain’t.

Oops...

As our dear Not-Caro continued to grow and develop feathers, and as her beak began to fully shape, it dawned on me that she had a flycatcher beak and the feathers were the wrong color for a Carolina wren. I knew this wasn’t an Eastern kingbird or a great crested flycatcher, which left only one possibility among the flycatcher species that’re fairly common in Georgia. Did some quick research, and sure enough, our little nestling is an Eastern phoebe. I’m quite fond of them, although I rarely see them in rehab (perhaps that’s WHY I’m fond of them; it seems to me that we rehabbers tend to be fonder of the species we don’t see often).

The little house finch with the leg issue was released last week and promptly joined his erstwhile rehab buddy, the previously released Carolina wren. Rehab does make for strange friendships!

And when this little sweetheart came in, he was pretty dehydrated and had some nasty wounds on his back, I suspect sustained when he fell from his nest. You can see them in the video clip, near his little tail. He’s about to drive me crazy with his up and down condition: one minute he’s gaping properly, the next he’s not; one minute his poop looks normal, the next it looks really loose…And because he’s one of my favorite species, I’m beside myself with worry every time something seems the slightest little bit “off” with him.

And what species might that be? While *I* obviously know for sure on this one, I’m gonna let *you* guess. List your guesses in the comments below, and those who get it right will receive…a great big attagirl or attaboy from me! (What? You were expecting a prize? Now you know how I feel when I pick up a critter that will be my responsibility for the next month or more and all I get in terms of “child” support is “Thank you so much!”)

A few new intakes, some releases and some losses—pretty much a typical week for baby season, in other words.

The brown thrasher was released last week and hung around only a day or so, wanting very little to do with me. This is a good thing; it means a) I’ve done my job and b) he’s capable of fending for himself outside the flight pen without my assistance.

The woodpeckers, greedy little beggars that they are, are still dive-bombing me for a handout, but they’re taking less and less form me before flying away. They’re just not ready to go totally solo yet—and that’s the beauty of a soft release: the releases who want the “security blanket” supplemental feedings provide have that option; those who are ready to go it alone immediately after release have that option, as well.

The Carolina wren was joined by a house finch whose siblings fledged and left him behind. This isn’t normal, so I obviously examined the bird to see what physical issues might be at play and discovered that his right leg had apparently been abnormally positioned in the nest, so that the bone hardened at an awkward angle. (Nestling songbirds’ bones are very soft and somewhat pliable; they harden as the bird grows. This is why calcium is so essential to hatchling and nestling songbirds.) We call this a “nest injury.” To be honest, I was worried that the little fellow would never learn to perch, but buddying him with the Caro, who was already perching, gave him the incentive to try.

I’m happy to report the wren has been released and the finch is perching and flying happily around the flight pen!

Last week’s sullen mocker has been released but refuses to cooperate with the paparazzi for a photo; sorry. He was joined prior to his release by this slightly less sullen fellow, who’s now in the flight pen.

The grackle died during the night late last week—no apparent cause, just was with us at lights-out and stiff in the morning. He was slated for the flight pen this week had  he survived, poor fellow…

When this juvenile female pileated woodpecker came in (the males have red over their entire heads; the females have a black “cap” with the red crest) near dark, I was quite excited. I don’t see pileateds often—the last was 5 years ago—and they’re really fun birds to work with. She was found by the roadside, and her lethargy suggested a concussion. Nothing appeared broken, but I planned to take her to Smalley’s Animal Hospital the next morning for x-rays to be sure. I got her comfortable and stabilized for the night but I was rather worried about her, so I kept checking on her after lights-out.

About 10:30 I walked into the rehab room to hear strangled noises coming from her box. I grabbed the box and ran to my bathroom, where I could turn on the light without disturbing the other birds. She was vomiting and her poop indicated internal injuries. She died as I tried to clear the vomit from her beak.

And yes, it sucked, big time. There wasn’t a damn thing we could have done, even if she’d come in during the day so I could have gotten her to the vet immediately. Every rehabber knows and accepts that this sort of thing happens all too often, but there are times it sucks worse than others. This was one of those times.

This nestling Carolina wren lost two of his siblings when their nest fell; the third sibling was barely alive when he came in. His little unfeathered belly showed classic signs of impact trauma and internal bleeding. He died within hours of intake, but this little fellow is doing quite well at the moment.

Things have slowed down slightly at LWR, giving me a weird but welcome break in the middle of baby season. (And I probably just jinxed myself and will now be inundated!)

The released woodpeckers continue to visit sporadically, flying in to demand a quick handout and then skittering up the tree trunk.

The runt is on borrowed time. As you can see from the photo and video clip of him in the flight pen, he’s massively underdeveloped compared to his released sibs. He cannot fly; he scoots along the mesh from place to place. His feathers aren’t developing properly, and he wears almost as much of his food as he eats, despite my wiping him down after each feeding. I’m letting him stay in the flight pen during the day and bringing him in at night, just to allow him to experience the outdoors safely. To be honest, I suspect his was an egg that shouldn’t have hatched, and if he and his sibs had remained in their nest, he would have been dead weeks ago. He’s such a sweet, good-natured little fellow that I’m trying to give him as much time as possible, but I know I’m postponing the inevitable…

The brown thrasher is in the flight pen and should be released later this week. In this photo, he had decided slinging food was fun. I think he enjoyed hearing me swear…I ended up with more on me than he did on him, but he looks considerably cuter than I do wearing his food.

I lost three of the four Carolina wrens from last week; they just suddenly dropped dead. Wrens can be so frustrating. It may have been stress at not being in the flight pen; because our rains last week were quite heavy at times, I kept all the birds slated for the flight pen inside until Saturday, when we had a break in the rain. A new Caro came in during the week and although slightly younger than the surviving member of the quartet, is housed with her now. Both are actually ready for the flight pen and will be headed there tomorrow morning.

When a caller informed me he had found a whippoorwill by the side of the road, I mentally corrected him, “Chuck-will’s-widow.” You see, whippoorwills aren’t common south of Georgia’s fall line, while their larger “cousins” the chuck-will’s-widows are. You can imagine my surprise when I picked up the bird and it was in fact a whippoorwill! Unfortunately, the poor bird’s right wing was trashed beyond repair.

All nightjars have tiny beaks that open to large mouths, as they eat on the wing, scooping insects from the air at night. Because they frequently hunt near roadways, their injuries are usually fatal—no matter how carefully you’re driving, there’s often no way to safely avoid hitting a bird that flies right in front of you from out of nowhere. That said, however, if you do hit a bird of any species, whether it’s during the day or at night, please stop to check on it and call a rehabber if necessary. Even if its wounds are fatal, we can at least ensure it doesn’t suffer needlessly.

Grackles have so little going for them. They’re a nondescript sort of purplish-black. They don’t have pretty songs. They’re just so ugly and awkward they’re cute when they’re young. Their sole redeeming feature is their striking yellow eyes, but they have brown eyes when they’re babies.

Why the soliloquy on grackles? Look at this poor fellow. I swear, I have to laugh at him every time I feed him…and wipe him down afterwards, as he frequently slings food…yeah, there’s nothing remotely graceful or dainty about these birds…But I’m still very fond of the ungainly little rascal!

And just this morning this very unhappy and quite sullen fledgling mocker came in. His finder called me last night and had gone through all the right steps to allow the parents to care for their baby, but he seemed to be wandering alone—and mocker parents WILL make their presence known, trust me—so as darkness approached, she was worried that roaming neighborhood dogs might kill the baby during the night, as he showed no inclination to fly.

Please note that it’s always better to leave a fledgling songbird alone for its parents to care for UNLESS…a) said parents don’t seem to be present (watch from a hidden area; the parents usually won’t come down if they can see you); b) the fledgling appears injured or weak; and/or c) the fledgling’s life is in danger. In this case, absent parents and canine threats made rescuing the angry little fellow the right move. Although he’s older than the grackle, they’re roomies at the moment, in hopes that the grackle’s enthusiastic demands for food will encourage the mocker to eat without needing force-feeding.

Unfortunately, none of the new arrivals in the past week survived the night…not pleasant, but when they come in badly mauled by cats or dogs or severely oiled, all we can do as rehabbers is begin treatment and hope for the best. This week a cat-attacked fledgling mourning dove, a probable cat-attacked blue jay and a badly oiled fledgling Carolina wren didn’t make it.

Continuing the death count, the robin who was doing so well at the last update suddenly developed severe respiratory problems, which the antibiotics he was on should have prevented but did not. He checked out. All three of the rabbits rescued from the lawn mower died.

But wait, there IS good news! The mallard was successfully released on a well-monitored pond (thanks to Chris and Shelley Baumann for the release site!) and we discovered, to our delight, that she was capable of limited flight—enough to escape predators if the need arose.

Three of the woodpeckers and the bluebird went to the flight pen last week and were released just yesterday. The woodpeckers are enthusiastic about coming down for supplemental feedings; the bluebird, not so much. I’ve heard him and occasionally seen him today, but he refuses to come down. Given that he was a bit of a sullen “guest” at LWR, this doesn’t surprise me.

The runt woodpecker is still inside, as he’s waaay behind his sibs developmentally. Honestly, I’m beginning to wonder if he’ll be releasable. He’s only about 2/3 the size of his normally developed sibs. We’ll just have to wait and see…

The brown thrasher is slated for the flight pen this week.

More than likely joining him will be the Carolina wren quartet, who have hit the adorably shy phase and are starting to perch and attempt short flights…when they’re not hiding…Honestly, the fact that such loudmouthed little birds—according to ornithologists, Caros have one of the loudest songs in proportion to their body size—can be so shy always amazes me.

And folks, the calls keep coming in about deer, despite the fact that I state on my voicemail that I’m focused on birds during baby bird season and not taking deer. So far, nearly every call I’ve gotten has been a kidnapped fawn. Let me remind you that unless you see the mother dead nearby or the baby is obviously injured, ill or running around bleating for his mama, the doe has parked that baby in what she deemed a safe place while she grazes nearby. LEAVE IT ALONE!! DO NOT KIDNAP THAT BABY!!! The folks at Wild Heart Ranch in Oklahoma have developed a nice little rhyme to help you remember when NOT to intervene: Ears are straight, fawn is great. Ears are curled, fawn alone in the world. Commit that sucker to memory and share the hell out of it every chance you get!