First off, folks, lemme go ahead and hop on my soapbox. I just spent part of an afternoon going back and forth with a braying jackass on a public forum after said jackass threatened to shoot a hawk hanging around the person’s back yard. I warned the person that shooting a hawk was a state and federal offense and that this offense was a felony, carrying potential prison time and fines of up to $25,000. The person then said s/he didn’t give a “rat’s ass” about state, federal or local laws. At this point I informed the person that if s/he was attempting to be a smartass or be funny, I had no sense of humor when protected wildlife is threatened—I’ve seen too many raptors who were victims of some jackass’s arrogant stupidity—and that I was copying our exchange to forward it to the appropriate authorities. I was then informed that the person didn’t make threats, s/he made promises.  

Well, guess what? I don’t make threats, either, nor do I make promises. I take action.  By law, I’m required to report suspected illegal activity. Someone making public comments about shooting a protected species sounds to me like illegal activity in the works, so you bet your sweet arse I reported it. A quick search gave me the person’s workplace and home addresses and phone numbers, and this information, along with screen caps of the conversation, have been sent to the appropriate state and federal authorities. What can they do, since no crime has yet been committed? Official phone calls to jackasses whose big talk probably compensates for lack of size in other areas will often have amazing effects in terms of reducing an overinflated ego to a size matching those aforementioned other areas…

I don’t play around when it comes to protecting my native wildlife, people. Don’t test me.

On to more pleasant—and some less pleasant—topics. If you’ll recall, in July I received a brown thrasher who’d been raised on a crap diet, with stress bars all in the tail feathers. I wasn’t sure how the bird would do, but I did have him in the flight pen. I’m happy to report that he’s been released!

Also, the two mockers from the last update have moved from flight pen to release and are doing well on their own. They half-heartedly beg for supplemental feedings from me and then fly away when I offer the food. It’s a mocker power trip thing…

The yellow bellied slider—the turtle I hit to avoid a head-on collision—has also been released. The little snot was bouncing off the walls…well, relatively speaking, of course. He was very active for a turtle—let’s phrase it that way. Every time I checked on him, he was looking for an escape route from his pen.

So I put his little reptilian butt out, thinking as active as he’d been I’d get some great photos of the release…wwwrrrooonnnnggg…You see below the best I could manage. For 30 solid minutes, I stood there with the camera at ready. He’d stick his head out a little, see me out of the corner of his eye, and draw his head back in. I finally gave up and walked away. Fifteen minutes later, the rascal had disappeared into the branch!

This box turtle wasn’t as lucky. The person who brought him to me was one of two people who stopped to move him out of the road and ended up watching in horror as some sorry excuse for a human deliberately hit him. There’s a special place in hell for people who get their jollies from deliberately harming an innocent animal.

I was 99% sure it was a lost cause, but I had to try and put Humpty together again. He was so alert and active; it would have been unfair not to try and give him a chance. Having no luck, I settled him down for the night with the thought that one of the vets at Smalley’s Animal Hospital might have better luck in the morning—they certainly had better equipment. Unfortunately, he didn’t make it through the night.

A screech owl with a dangling wing is usually indicative of a break. I couldn’t find a fracture in this little guy’s wing, but he did have an open wound on the back of the wing and a scraped cere. Vet Peggy Hobby at Smalley’s x-rayed him and confirmed we had no breaks, and she and I were quite pleased, as we’re both very fond of screeches. I took him home, gave him some mice for the night, and was shocked to find him dead the next morning. Nothing about his behavior was unusual or indicative of anything other than that sore wing. He just keeled over on his side in the corner of his box, next to his uneaten mice.

After the crow I mentioned in the last update succumbing to textbook West Nile virus (WNV) symptoms, I’m paranoid now, so I suspect WNV in the screech, too. Apparently when they contract it, it hits hard and fast.

And this barred owl, who came in with what initially appeared to be a concussion, continued to progressively lose coordination and balance over the next several days. When the bird got no better, I took him in for an exam, and his lack of coordination, refusal to eat and generally depressed state led us to suspect yet another case of WNV. In this instance, however, we were able to preserve the carcass for testing, as vet Shelley Baumann’s husband Chris, a state wildlife biologist, decided, based on our descriptions of the bird’s behavior, that he needed to be tested.  I don’t know when we’ll have results, but we will find out what led this bird to require euthanasia.

The older squirrels have opened their eyes; below is a shot of one of them on the morning his little eyes began opening.

They’re still mostly eating and sleeping at this point, so I don’t yet have any photos of them with fully open eyes.

This little fellow came in Friday; his eyes opened today. He’s a yawner—eat a while, yawn a little; eat some more, bigger yawn; more food, wider yawn…done eating, out cold. It’s hysterically funny to watch!

The Aug. 1 squirrel has a buddy, approximately the same age, so they’re together now and are *thisclose* to their eyes opening. I expect to see little eyes peeping at me at every feeding!  In the top photo, you can see—on the top squirrel—a little Quasimodo bulge between his shoulder blades: He came in severely dehydrated, and that bulge is from a fluid injection to rehydrate him quickly.

This adult fish crow—fish crows are slightly smaller than American crows—came in with no obvious signs of trauma but was unusually docile and quiet. When he refused to eat, I suspected I knew his problem but couldn’t say for sure…until he had his first grand mal seizure. I was feeding the squirrels when I heard a thump, followed by thrashing, and I stopped with the squirrels long enough to confirm what I was hearing. The second seizure, just minutes later, was fatal. The crow exhibited textbook West Nile Virus symptoms: docility, refusal/inability to eat, seizures and death. Some crows also exhibit lack of coordination and small head tremors, but I didn’t notice these in this bird.

His death capped off a crappy day that had started with the euthanasia of this barred owl, who was found by the side of the road and had an open fracture right at the elbow.

The same day, after the vet clinic had closed, I picked up this adult male red tailed hawk. The people who found him thought—as did I initially—that he’d been shot. There was a massive chunk of dried blood on his head, dried blood was all over his body, he was lethargic…I was convinced that when we x-rayed him at Smalley’s Animal Hospital the next morning, his x-rays would light up like a Christmas tree and show at least one wing fracture.

Before we could get to that point, however, I first had to de-maggot him, as he was crawling with the nasty little vermin—another reason I was sure he had massive injuries. After 45 minutes of bathing and thoroughly traumatizing him, we had a maggot-free bird, I was off rice for the next couple of weeks, and I was sure I’d traumatized him to the point he was going to die during the night. BUT…I could find no open wounds aside from a massively bruised jaw—just lots of dried blood, which is what had attracted the maggots, and a few hot spots.

The next morning, he was still with us but was holding his head in the most ungodly position. When I offered him a mouse, he jerked his head upright, took the mouse, and promptly shifted back to his contorted position, holding the mouse in his beak. He remained in this position until I closed up his box for transport to Smalley’s.

Vet Shelley Baumann examined him and agreed that aside from those few tender, raw-ish spots, he appeared injury-free. She isolated the source of the dried blood to around his ear, and we x-rayed his entire body to be sure there was no lead. He had no lead and no fractures, so we opted for worming and  a round of antibiotics, to cover our bases.

By last night, he had recovered enough to eat on his own and to foot me when I was treating one of the hot spots to keep it from developing into an open sore. The stains you see on the puppy pad in this photo are my blood, not his! Not to worry, I’m fine, he appears to be recovering from whatever head trauma caused his ear to bleed so profusely, and if all continues to go well, he should make a full recovery.

Unfortunately, on the way home from the vet clinic, I saw a turtle in the road. He was too close to the shoulder for me to safely straddle him in that direction, as the shoulder was narrow and fell off to a steep embankment, so I opted to swerve over and ride the center line instead. Enter Car B, coming from the opposite direction and slightly over the center line. To avoid a head-on collision, I swerved back over to the center of my lane and hoped I could miss the turtle, but I clipped him instead.

Swearing at myself, the other driver and the turtle—a yellow-bellied slider—I pulled over and went back to retrieve him, hoping I hadn’t done any terminal damage. Luckily for the turtle and my incipient guilt complex, the damage—while substantial—was confined to his shell and wasn’t fatal.

I superglued his shell back together after consulting Steve Hicks of Bubba & Friends, who cautioned that superglue isn’t the best shell bond, but it’s what I had on hand. The turtle remains active and alert, so his chances are looking good.  And yes, even though rationally, I know it was better than hitting another car head-on or flipping off the shoulder into the creek, I still feel guilty for clipping the poor fellow…

And so when I got down to just two critters last week, Nature decided to fill that vacuum!

First was this squirrel, about 10 days old when he came in.

Here he is today.

Then came a juvenile brown thrasher with a sad tale. This poor bird was found in the middle of the road about a month previously. The finder kept him inside, feeding him a crap diet and treating him like a pet.  After he’d had a month of malnourishment and habituation to humans, I got the call: “I’ve had this bird for a month and he can’t seem to eat on his own and I thought I knew what I was doing and I don’t know how to let him go and he won’t eat on his own…” It’s always a variation on this theme, and I’m always amazed that after they’ve managed to screw up a bird’s life without any help at all, the callers suddenly realize they have no clue what they’re doing and—even more amazing—manage to find my number and want me to clean up their mess. Just short of a miracle, huh?

Just look at the mess his tail feathers are in. You can clearly see the stress bars that indicate poor diet, and how that will affect him later is anybody’s guess. I’ve got him on a nutritionally balanced diet in hopes that the worst of the damage can be reversed, but there’s no guarantee.

At least he’s flying well enough to be in the flight pen; I hope once his strength is built up and he’s had at least another week of proper food he’ll be in good enough shape to release. We’ll see…Soapbox rant time, people: As a gentle reminder, POSSESSION OF WILDLIFE WITHOUT A PERMIT IS ILLEGAL; POSSESSION OF WILD BIRDS WITHOUT A PERMIT IS PUNISHABLE BY FINES OF UP TO $25,000 AND PRISON TIME. You ARE, of course, allowed to retrieve ill, orphaned or injured wildlife in order to transport it to a licensed rehabber.

Next up were three nestling mockers in as many days. Sadly, the third one came in with a really nasty open fracture on his left leg (Look at your leg. Now imagine it ripped open just below the knee, broken bones exposed,  and twisted so that your toes face your butt.) and required euthanasia.

We think this adult red shouldered hawk suffered a mild concussion, as he was found on his back after a storm. Nothing is broken, and he’s very alert and paranoid today, and eating on his own, so after a couple more days’ observation, he should be ready for release back where he was found.

Speaking of red shoulders, I have a “boy, is my face red” confession to make: Remember last week’s juvie red shoulder? He screamed and carried on like a true red shoulder…until this past weekend, when he suddenly reared back and cut loose with a textbook perfect Mississippi kite cry. Yep, he’s a little juvie M. kite…You’d think by now I could tell the difference—actually, I can; I knew he was small for a red shoulder, but he had the RS loud mouth! Also, logic should have dictated that it’s too late in the year for a juvie red shoulder—to be honest, that thought DID cross my mind, but I figured that it was a late nest because the first nest/eggs/babies hadn’t been successful. More evidence that I need to learn to trust my gut in these cases…

And just today, beginning August on the right note, this gorgeous juvie male red tailed hawk came in, found in the woods by vet Jim Hobby of Smalley’s Animal Hospital. He favors his left wing, but x-rays show no fractures. He’s very thin, his cere looks bruised, and he has frounce. Note the mussed feathers on the left side of his head, also.

We think the wing may be just bruised or maybe has some soft tissue damage, like a torn tendon or ligament.  The frounce is treatable when caught early enough; I started treatment this afternoon.  Best guess? He tangled with prey that fought back or was maybe whacked hard by an adult RT when he wandered into its territory. We’ll never actually know, but speculating is a good way to kill a few nonproductive minutes!

And finally, I leave you this week with a shot of the recently released juvie red bellied woodpecker, who still comes down several times a day for a handout. Here he’s perched on my roof, debating whether to beg for a handout or find his own food.  Self-sufficiency won in this instance—always a cause for celebration!