​As I’ve pointed out numerous times, release can come in various forms for wildlife. Too often, it’s in the form of euthanasia; sometimes the wildlife relieves us of the decision by simply dying. And, of course, we have the glorious releases. Last week had all three forms of release.
 
The second paralyzed red-tail never improved; her feet stayed tightly balled and actually started turning black, although there was no gangrenous smell. Vets Peggy Hobby and Richie Hatcher were as stymied as I was on this one, but given the deterioration in her feet and the failure to respond to treatment for the paralysis, we opted for euthanasia.
 
The common nighthawk also showed no improvement; in fact, the follow-up x-ray of his wing showed a worsening of the fracture and no callus formation at all. Given the increased displacement, we again opted for euthanasia.

​In better news, we had several releases: another mourning dove, the remaining house finch, the Carolina wren (who has been released five times now and keeps slipping back in through the escape hatch when it’s open…) and the barred owl the police department left at Smalley’s.

​I knew this male ruby-throated hummer was in trouble when he arrived with feathers fluffed and making no attempt to move; he never perked back up and refused to eat as far as I ever saw, even when his bill was dipped into the feeder—a common method to encourage a stressed hummer to eat. The poor fellow died during the night.

​Near the end of the week, yet another barred owl came in, a young male. He’d been observed sitting in the middle of the street in a busy residential area, and after he didn’t move from that spot for a couple of hours, rescuers stepped in to get the owl to safety. Fortunately, he had no broken bones and was quite feisty upon arrival at LWR, but he appears to have soft tissue damage, as an attempted release after a couple of days’ observation ended with him fluttering to the ground. The photo below is after I picked him back up; he was NOT a happy camper.

​And late this evening, this adorable little fellow arrived. He was found in a horse stall; his finder reported no nest that she’d noticed but is checking tomorrow to make sure. Flying squirrels are honestly pretty much the only reason I keep my small mammal permit current; if not for these little rascals, I’d be perfectly content to focus solely on birds!

​It was sort of a mixed week, which is—if I’m quite honest—the norm for most wildlife rehabbers. We rarely have a week of all good news; it’s more likely a mix of tragedy and celebration. Yeah, and people wonder why we seem slightly bipolar—you try celebrating a successful release and then finding a bird with no apparent injuries dead in its box within the same 12 hours and see how YOUR moods swing.
 
Let’s start with Coop the Ripper, the psychotic Cooper’s hawk who tried to keep both my hands as souvenirs of his encounter with me last week. Look at the photo below—see all that blood? It’s mine…

​Sadly for both of us (I’ve never been a big fan of Coops because they ARE psychotic), the vicious little snot does have a small fracture just behind his left wrist, so we’re stuck with each other until he heals or drops dead from stress, which is not an uncommon occurrence for Coops in captivity. His eating is spotty, so I’m honestly not sure if we’ll celebrate an eventual release or report an eventual death.

​On a lighter note, remember the photo last week with what appeared to be part of his last meal in the wild hung on his tongue? It was still there Monday, and when I pointed it out to vet Richie Hatcher of Smalley’s Animal Hospital, after he stopped laughing at me because I was laughing at the fact that my blood was still on the Coop’s leg and feathers, he got forceps and removed it. Turns out it was the toe and leg skin from a bird that had wrapped around his tongue and he couldn’t get it loose!

​​The x-ray on the paralyzed red-tailed hawk showed no fracture, so we opted to continue the steroids and hope for the best. Unfortunately, within 24 hours she began having respiratory issues and died. When I asked Richie what could have caused her death, he said what I described sounded like myelomalacia, basically “spinal cord death.” The damaged spinal cord begins dying, usually from the trauma site in the direction of the affected limbs, but it can die in the opposite direction, toward the unaffected limbs. If it does this, once it reaches the respiratory system, it will kill the bird.  Sadly, there was nothing more we could have done for this lady.

​Monday, however, another paralyzed first-year red-tail arrived, which I found a bit odd. Her paralysis wasn’t as severe and again, the x-rays showed no fractures. The outlook is grim for this girl; despite daily steroid injections she remains unable to stand and her feet stay balled.

​Also on Monday a cat-attacked juvenile female Eastern bluebird came in, and grab yer hats, ‘cause I’m fixin’ to rant big time.
 
The caller said the cat had attacked the bluebird the previous night; she chased the cat down and retrieved the bird. “But he didn’t die overnight…” so she called LWR the next morning.  People, when a cat attacks ANY wildlife, time is of the essence. Don’t by-God wait to see if the wildlife dies before seeking help; doing so virtually assures it will die.
 
THEN, she actually asked, “If she’s releasable, do you want me to pick her back up and release her at my house?”  How about HELL NO?? Why in the name of all that’s holy would I knowingly and willingly return a bird that I’ve just nursed back to health from a cat attack to a yard filled with outdoor cats???
 
And when I tried to point out the illogic of even asking that question, all I got was, “Yeah, the neighbors keep moving away and leaving behind cats.” When I suggested a humane trap and taking the trapped cats to the shelter, she said she was trapping them and having them spayed or neutered…and then PUTTING THEM RIGHT BACK OUT to kill birds—as well as to die early deaths from disease, predator attacks, poisoning, being hit by cars, exposure to the elements…
 
Folks, the much-vaunted Trap-Neuter-Release (TNR) method for stray/feral cats DOES NOT WORK. I will grant that they can’t reproduce, but just dumping the cats back out to fend for themselves is unutterably cruel. You’re NOT doing the cats themselves any favors by leaving them to their fate, and you’re damn sure not helping our native wildlife by loosing a nonnative predator on it.
 
Bottom line—keep YOUR cats indoors; trap strays and ferals humanely and TAKE THEM TO A SHELTER where they can be adopted or humanely euthanized—and yes, humane euthanasia is a much kinder option than death from starvation, predation or disease. Indoor cats, in addition to being healthier, live up to 18-20 years; the average lifespan of an outdoor cat is 4-5 disease- and injury-filled years.
 
Even though I began antibiotics as soon as I got the bluebird, she died two hours after intake. She was just beginning to get faint traces of her adult color. She never had a chance to choose a mate or raise a clutch of babies herself. She never had a chance at life because someone let their cats roam freely outside, with no thought for the consequences.  She died because someone couldn’t be bothered to scoop a litterbox for an indoor cat.
 
If you can’t be a responsible cat owner, don’t get a cat. I thank you, the cat—whose life will be much longer and healthier with an owner who keeps him indoors—thanks you, and our native wildlife thanks you.

​LWR also received a broadwing hawk last week—and here again, people, when a rehabber asks you NOT to use a bird cage for wild birds, THERE ARE LEGITIMATE REASONS.  First, the wire bars can damage feathers, so that the bird must remain in rehab until it molts. Second, an injured bird flailing around in a wire cage can do further damage, potentially worsening a minor injury to the point that it becomes a major, euthanasia-requiring injury. Third, when you cram a damn adult hawk in a canary cage, THE REHABBER is the one who must then struggle to get the bird out of a door designed for a much smaller bird, without doing further damage to the hawk. Fair warning: I’m going to get heavy wire cutters and start cutting the bars on cages when people bring me a wild bird in a cage.
 
Cardboard boxes are ideal for transporting wild birds, as the darkness keeps them calmer and there’s nothing in a cardboard box they can do further damage to themselves on. If you, for some inexplicable reason, have no cardboard boxes, a laundry basket with a towel or blanket secured over the top will work. NO WIRE CAGES, EVER!!!
 
Fortunately, I was able to extricate the broadwing from the cage and while an intake exam revealed no injuries, he did seem to be favoring his left wing a bit, so off we headed to Smalley’s the next morning. We have a finely-honed routine: the vet, in this case Peggy Hobby, opens the box while I reach in with the gloves on and pull out the bird for an exam. This time, however, when Peggy opened the box just enough for me to stick my hands in, the bird shot out like a rocket and headed straight for the receptionist’s desk. While the receptionist shot out of her area like a rocket, as well, and Peggy doubled over laughing, I chased down and retrieved our errant erstwhile patient, laughing hysterically myself. We need those moments of levity…
 
Once we stopped laughing, Peggy and I agreed that if the bird could fly that well and that fast, he obviously needed release ASAP.

​A 4AM call from the local police department alerted me to an owl that had been rescued from the road and placed in a box behind Smalley’s for me to pick up later that morning. And yet again, a word of advice—if you put the bird in a box, CLOSE THE BOX.  Cardboard “breathes”; the bird won’t suffocate. I promise. If you absolutely must, punch a few small airholes in the box, although it’s really not necessary.
 
This barred owl, however, was placed IN AN OPEN BOX behind the vet clinic, which faces a busy street. Had the bird not been so concussed, he could easily have clambered right out of the box and staggered away, to his death. As it was—and still is—he’s got some major head trauma going on and is still not feeling 100% almost a week later. We’re fairly sure he’ll be releasable once he gets his horizontal and vertical holds adjusted properly.

In other updates, the male Eastern bluebird took advantage of the opened escape hatch on the songbird flight, as did one of the mourning doves, and the nighthawk goes back in this week for follow-up x-rays to see how/if his wing is mending.  I’m hopeful but not optimistic, as the muscle on that wing just looks…odd, not right. We’ll see…
 
And the screech almost flew the coop last night. I opened the raptor flight door and offered him the option; he flew down to the threshold and sat there for the longest, looking around and debating, then he turned around and flew back into the flight. Physically, he’s ready; psychologically, apparently not yet!

​One final note—next week’s update will be Monday, the 26th, later in the night, mostly likely.

​Yeah, I shoulda known better than to say it’d been an unusually slow week. Murphy overheard that comment, began cackling with sadistic glee, and promptly set about making sure this past week was ANYthing but quiet or slow.
 
Let’s start with the most unusual bird of the week—actually, ever—a hurricane victim. Yeah, remember the wind and rain we got last weekend as a result of Hermine moving inland? Well, it caught this poor bird in its winds and blew him hundreds of miles off course. What species am I referring to?
 
A red-billed tropicbird. Apparently the folks that do the bird naming just ran out of good names and stuck these gorgeous birds with a kinda pedestrian but descriptive name. They’re tropical and almost never seen even along the US East and West coasts, as their normal range is pretty much a U-shaped region from more or less Central America through the Panama Canal, roughly, to the Caribbean. Their legs are set far back on their bodies, like loons, and they’re only on land to raise their babies, as they have to drag themselves along by their wings on land. They spend most of their lives airborne, diving to catch squid and fish, and have much smaller feet than loons, making them less agile swimmers.

​He was found in the road by an elderly couple in a nearby county and bless their hearts, they kept calling people all day, until they reached LWR. Within an hour of their call, they’d gotten him to LWR and the husband pulled out his bird book and said, “I think this is what it is,” pointing to a photo of a red-billed tropicbird. All I could do was say, “Damn, I think you’re right!”
 
After some quick research to determine their normal range, I called colleague Veronica Bowers in California, hoping she’d know someone who’d worked with these birds. She referred me to Save Our Shearwaters (SOS) in Hawaii, who’d worked with the red-TAILED tropicbird, a similar species. I was happy to find that my basic care plan was on track with what SOS recommended. Their main concern was his weight, as a healthy weight would have been around 6-700g. This poor guy weighed in at 330g, about half what he should have. He was also exhausted. Still, we were hopeful that he’d make it. Unfortunately, he died that night.
 
I called DNR wildlife biologist Chris Baumann the next morning to see if DNR could use the carcass for educational purposes, and within two days Chris called back to say that the Georgia Museum of Natural History was eager to have the bird for study and display. So even though he didn’t make it back to his home territory, he’ll educate generations of Georgians about his species.

​Another uncommon but not rare visitor to LWR last week was this gorgeous little common nighthawk. He had abrasions on his wing and enough swelling that I couldn’t say for sure if it was broken. When I got him to Smalley’s Animal Hospital for x-rays, the swelling was down but the abrasions had hard scabs, still making it hard to tell if there was a fracture.
 
Unfortunately, the x-rays did show a fracture in the rough equivalent of his hand, near the wrist. It may interfere with full extension of the wing, but vets Richie Hatcher and Peggy Hobby agreed that we should give him time to heal to see if he’ll be able to fly again. Problem is, he’s facing a time crunch, as these birds are already migrating to South America for the winter. Because common nighthawks are aerial insectivores, adult birds must be force-fed in rehab, which adds another layer of stress, so they don’t make good candidates for overwintering. Keep your fingers crossed that this guy heals in time to make migration.

​A gorgeous and aggressive first-year male red-tailed hawk came in without a feather out of place but a broken left shoulder. The broken bone was so small we almost missed it on the x-ray. Richie and I were sure there was a shoulder issue but we initially thought it was soft-tissue damage. Again, there was the real risk the healed fracture would interfere with flight but Richie, Peggy and I agreed it was worth giving the bird that chance.
 
He was doing great, inhaling food, and then Thursday evening he didn’t eat his mouse. He was well-fleshed on intake, and it’s not unusual for red-tails to go without eating for a day or two, even in rehab, so I wasn’t too concerned. Within 24 hours he was dead. No rhyme or reason, just from healthy, alert and eating everything offered to not eating and dead. THIS is when a necropsy would be useful.

​Hot on his heels, an adult red-shouldered hawk came in, found in the middle of the road still clutching his mouse. The young man who rescued him and brought him to LWR was amazed that he refused to let go of his prey until he picked him up.
 
His leg was badly broken and I suspected it couldn’t be fixed, but he also went to Smalley’s for x-rays that confirmed my suspicions. Peggy took one look at the x-ray and exclaimed, “Oh, that is REALLY messed up!”
 
The red shoulder was humanely euthanized.

​On Labor Day a lady called with a white bird she thought might be a heron in her yard, although she lived nowhere near a pool, pond or stream. I was sure, based on her description, she had a cattle egret, but when she brought the bird, it turned out to be a thin juvenile little blue heron. Turns out juvy little blues are white—go figure!
​
He was alert and able to stand and honestly, I’ve never had a heron come in that wasn’t on the thin side, so I figured all he needed was a few days of R&R and unlimited fish—if he’d self-feed. Great blue herons are really bad about not self-feeding in rehab, but the smaller herons don’t seem to have those issues, so I figured this gorgeous little guy would eat just fine if nothing else was going on.
 
And brother, did he EAT. I wiped out my cousin’s minnow supply at his bait and tackle store! 

​He was released late in the week and flew right out of the box before I could even finish opening the flaps or focus the camera, although he did come back down to the water after a while and I spent way too long snapping photos and getting video clips of him eating and walking around his release site.

​This afternoon, another first year red-tail arrived, this one unable to use her legs. She can move them slightly and jerked as I cleaned the poop off her feathers where she’d laid in it during transport, and she eats well. She’s had a steroid injection in case the problem is just inflammation around the spinal cord, and we’ll get x-rays tomorrow to see if anything shows. I’m rather in love with her at the moment; she’s got a great, laid-back disposition and accepts the fact that I’m trying to help her.

​In total contrast, this first-year Cooper’s hawk also came in today with a small ding on his left wing that might indicate a pellet wound, so he’ll need x-rays too. Nothing feels broken but to be quite honest, I didn’t do as thorough an exam as I normally do on new intakes, as when I was examining him I loosened my grip on his feet microscopically, which was just enough for him to snatch one foot loose and foot the hell out of my right hand. He had such a death grip on my ring finger that it had started turning blue before I was able to pry him off. And then, as soon as I got him loose from the right hand, he nailed the left, right through the thumb. See those bright red drops of blood on his tail in the full-body photo? It’s mine. His box looks like a massacre took place in it where I dripped blood all over the place putting him back up so I could treat my own injuries.

Yes, yes, we wear gloves when handling raptors. But you can’t do an exam with heavy handling gloves on—you can’t feel anything through them. So it’s a calculated risk. Most times you don’t get nailed but with Coops all bets are off because they’re psychotic little snots to begin with, and being in a rehab setting only serves to increase their psychoses. I’m not real thrilled when Coops come in; give me a red-tail or a red shoulder any day!
 
I also got in two more mourning doves last week, a nestling and a fledgling. The nestling didn’t survive; the fledgling is in the flight pen with the older two who were slated for the flight last week. No pix of any of them, as they refuse to let me near them now.

And while you can’t SEE anything in the video clip below, turn up your speakers and LISTEN to the screech making the adorable little trilling sound characteristic of his species. I love their trills, absolutely LOVE ‘em! He’s slated for release this week. He’s definitely ready to go.

Apparently the wildlife gods decided to give LWR an early Labor Day break, as we had no new intakes last week—a rare occurrence indeed! Oh, there were calls, but none resulted in intakes. HOWever…I already know that there are three birds headed this way as soon as transportation can be arranged, and there may be one other; we’re not sure on it yet.

In the meantime, here’s a short update on the ongoing LWR guests.
​
The mourning doves are almost totally self-feeding now, so they should be headed for the flight pen this week. They’ve been engaging in an awful lot of wing flapping over the past week. Tried for video of that but they always stopped at the sight of the camera. 

​The screech is a couple of weeks away from release and is looking ever so much better now that all those molted head feathers have been replaced with shiny new ones!

​While it’s not the clearest shot in the world, this photo of the house finch is at least better than last week’s “tail feathers barely in the frame” shot. She’s good to go but stubbornly refuses to do so, taking advantage of the gravy train for as long as possible.

​The brown thrasher’s flight feathers are slowly showing growth, but looking at him, I’m worried he may simply be too fat to fly. Honestly! Thrashers are usually fairly slim birds; this guy ain’t slim by any stretch of the imagination, so he may need to be put on a diet so he can actually use those wings when they’ve fully come back in!

​Oddly enough, the female bluebird’s flight feathers are showing uneven growth, with one wing fully replaced and the other slower to regrow. This means, bless her sweet little heart, that she’s still grounded. Hopefully another week or so and she’ll be flitting around the flight like the male.

​Speaking of the male, now that he’s got wings again, as it were, he’s everywhere in the flight but still gets winded easily—gotta build up his endurance a bit before he’s good for release. I’m actually thinking I’ll hold him until the female’s good to go so they can be released together. They’re not from the same clutch, so they might remain paired until breeding season next spring—who knows?

​Like I said, short update for an eerily quiet week. I expect more intakes next week as people continue cleaning up from the winds and rain from the remnants of Hermine that swept through Georgia Friday, but since it’s not baby season—for birds, anyway; it is for squirrels—it won’t result in a flood of unnested baby birds at least. More likely a few migrating adults--now let’s hope I didn’t just invite Murphy to the party!