Sorry…couldn’t resist. As soon as I’m done with the update, I’ll go bang my head against a wall to simulate a collective head slap from everybody who groaned and rolled their eyes at the header, okay? (Yeah, like I’m THAT stupid?!?!)

Let’s lead with the kestrel, just because this was a neat surprise for me. Kestrels aren’t as common around here as they used to be, so when I walked outside Friday and heard a kestrel’s unmistakable cry, I did a U-turn to grab the camcorder. Luckily, the mouthy little darlin’ stayed put until I could locate her, and then, to my surprise, I heard another kestrel answering her call across the field. She flew across the field to what I presume was her mate—he looked male from my angle—and they sat a few feet apart on the power line for several minutes before flying off. Tried for video of that, too, but they were a bit too far away for it to be useful.

And…earlier that day I’d heard at least one red tailed hawk calling from somewhere behind the house, and several nights last week before it got so cool I had to close the windows, I heard screech owls whinnying (I think I’ve mentioned before that “whinny” is the actual term used, as opposed to their trill).

I love it when I see or hear wildlife that doesn’t need my help!

Unfortunately, I can’t help this poor first-year turkey vulture, who will never fly again. An out-of-town cell tower inspector found him at his inspection site in Toombs County and was informed by people who lived nearby that he’d been down for a couple of weeks. His left wing is broken, badly enough that he’s been standing and pooping on it, although it’s not an open fracture. What really infuriates me is that had the people who lived near the site called me earlier, we might have been able to save this vulture. As it is, because birds’ bones begin to set within 48 hours of a fracture, he’s well and truly screwed.

I spent a good 15 minutes trying to explain to his rescuer that he couldn’t be helped, that euthanasia was going to be his only option, and that because vultures are protected under the Migratory Bird Treaty Act (MBTA), they cannot be kept in captivity without the proper permits. He was not happy that “someone” couldn’t just build a pen in the back yard and keep the vulture there.

Folks, aside from the above-mentioned illegality of such an action, let me address the quality of life issues here. Rehabbers don’t make the decision to euthanize lightly. Yes, we’re experienced enough that we can often, upon initial exam, determine whether an intake is savable or not, so it may seem to the uninitiated that we casually toss off, “He’ll need euthanasia.”

But there’s nothing casual about that assessment. We’ve looked at the extent of the injury, the estimated length of time the bird’s been down, its general condition, its chances for release, and the possibility of placing it in an educational facility—and we’ve probably done all that while we had you filling out an intake form. In addition, we’ve taken into account the quality of life the bird (or other wildlife) would have in captivity.  See, it’s not all about quantity of life; it’s about quality.

Case in point: this turkey vulture.  Yeah, I could keep him alive. I could apply for and probably be granted an educational permit and use him to do programs in schools and such. But this is an adult bird. You see in the photos how he reacts to human presence. What quality of life is there in living in a cage, unable to ever fly again, and being dragged from one group of chattering school children to another, shooting his stress levels through the roof?

Euthanasia means “good death.” There are those who would argue there’s no such thing. No wildlife rehabber I know would agree. Euthanasia is a release, a humane end to pain and suffering we can’t fix. It’s better than the animal starving to death or being stung to death by fire ants or eaten alive by maggots. And in many cases, it’s kinder than a life of captivity. We don’t make the decision lightly, but we do take the action that’s in the wildlife’s best interest.

Okay, off the soapbox and on to some unbelievable cuteness. You’re getting four video clips of the flyers this week—how lucky can ya get? Mere words can’t do justice to the adorable little rascals, so…on to the videos!

It’s been a fairly uneventful week, so this update’s a bit brief. I could elaborate on almost every aspect of it, I suppose, but you deserve a break from my prattling every now and then, and I have a massive editing load to manage over the next few days, so…short and sweet this week so I can get my nose back to the editing grindstone more quickly!

After some debate as to location, we finally decided on the perfect spot for the raptor flight pen and have begun clearing off the area. It’s on a natural rise and is fairly level, so that will reduce some of the “landscaping” aspects of the construction. It also gets the morning sun, midday dappled sunlight and evening shade—perfect!

The little flying squirrel with the abscess healed beautifully by midweek and was able to rejoin his sibs. Unfortunately, within a six-hour span on Friday, he went from alert, active and greedy to rapidly losing body temperature, lethargic and refusing to eat. Two hours later, he died. I have no clue. The site of the abscess was marked only by a small scab; his sibs welcomed him back with no problems; his appetite was excellent; he was energetic; he was still on antibiotics…and then he was dead. This is the stuff rehabbers’ nightmares are made of.

The other three flyers are growing apace and were moved just today into a larger pen with a proper nest box. They haven’t explored the remainder of the pen—probably won’t see that action till tonight—but the nest box meets with their approval.

This isn’t a great “mast” year for squirrels of any species in my neck of the woods. Last year we had a bumper crop of mast— acorns, pecans, etc.—but this is an “off” year. Why is this significant? Since there won’t be an ample supply of winter fodder out there, I’ll be overwintering these little rascals, to give them the best possible chance at survival when they’re released next spring.

Not as many photos this week as last—sorry ‘bout that. Between the flying squirrel’s abscesses and the hermit thrush’s ultimately fatal breathing issues, I wasn’t really focused on pix.

First, the hermit thrush: this poor darlin’ was found on a sidewalk in Bibb County.  We don’t have hermit thrushes year-round; they winter here.This sweet bird had probably been in the early wave of fall migration.

Based on the beak breathing but clear eyes and nose, I suspected a blown lung, probably from impact with a car or window.  She also had some neurological issues going on: could poop but her legs were stretched out straight in front of her body. Vet Richie Hatcher of Smalley’s Animal Hospital and I, after x-rays showed no broken bones contributing to her distress and after he ruled out a blown lung, decided to give her a little time and see what happened. She was able to eat when hand-fed, so it was worth a try. You can always euthanize later, but once it’s done, you can’t take it back.

So, after Richie consulted with a colleague who’s an avian vet, we opted for steroids for any inflammation that might be causing her respiratory problems and supportive care, meaning a safe place to recover and hand-feeding until she could manage on her own…if she ever reached that stage again. We knew the odds were stacked against her, but it was worth a shot. And she was doing so much better the next morning that I texted Richie to share the good news. We were both pretty darn happy.

Two hours later, she had either a heart attack or seizure in my hands as I was about to feed her. We lost her that quickly.  And yes, it sucked—big time. It’s never pleasant to lose a rehab; it’s worse when they die in your hands, and the unpleasantness is compounded when it’s a species you’re especially fond of…and I adore all members of the thrush family: wood thrushes, hermit thrushes, bluebirds, robins—the whole lot.

Death is an all-too-common visitor in wildlife rehab, but I don’t think any rehabber worth his or her salt ever gets used to it. It never gets easier; in fact, other rehabbers and I have agreed that it actually seems to get harder to deal with as you gain more experience, because you second-guess yourself even more based on previous successes or failures…or both. As harsh as it sounds, we just suck it up and deal with it. There’s no time to agonize over one loss, as we usually have other rehabs who need us to be focused on their needs and issues. You can’t give your best care to your other “babies” if you’re an emotional train wreck from losing one five minutes earlier. (And yeah, we pay a price for “postponing” grief: sleepless nights, high rates of burnout, stress levels through the roof…)

Fortunately, I did have the flyers to focus on. The little fellow with the puncture wound actually had an abscess form and migrate above the puncture, where it burst. The next day, one on his outer hip also burst. Vets Jim Hobby and Richie Hatcher explained it more or less thusly: antibiotics, which my little guy had been on from day one, aren’t actually effective until the abscess bursts; then the antibiotics can do their job. So he’s still on antibiotics, he gets an Epsom salt rinse after every feeding, and then he gets doused with Betadine. Needless to say, he’s not thrilled with his current regimen, but flyers are such sweet little souls that all he does is chitter a mild protest, jerk his little leg, and occasionally poop on himself from the discomfort—and I know it has to hurt to have salt water poured into an open wound, followed by Betadine. But the wounds are looking better, and he’s never lost his appetite or been in any way sluggish—in fact, he’s my heaviest eater!

In the video clip below he hides after being fed and having his wounds treated:

And relax, that’s not blood; it’s Betadine! (And he's a sleepy little fellow.)

The other three flyers are still separated from this little guy, so they don’t aggravate his wound in any way. I hope by the end of the week to be able to put them all together again.

The photo below is a neat shot of their fur (in addition to being a handful of adorable!). See how oily it looks? But it’s soft as silk, despite that oily appearance. I’ve never come across an authoritative explanation for the oily look, which just goes to prove my oft-repeated argument that flyers haven’t received near the research attention that grays have. If any squirrel researchers out there are reading this, get off your duffs and start focusing some intensive research on flyers!

And I leave you this week with these two video clips of the three “healthy” babies being impossibly adorable:

‘Cause that’s what you’ll be getting this week!

But let’s start with a nighthawk update…she was initially unable to do more than run along the ground, rasping at me, but by her third day in the flight pen she’d started attempting short flights and her wing was straighter and her flight better with each attempt. I’d worried that she might be on borrowed time and was delighted to see her daily improvement in such a short time span. Unfortunately…as her flight improved, so did her frantic flinging herself at the southern side of the flight pen. It’s just mesh-lined hardware cloth for the most part, but she apparently hit that relatively soft material at just the right angle Thursday night, and Friday morning, I found her dead—as best I can figure, she broke her neck trying to escape the flight pen. The migration instinct was too strong, and her flight wasn’t yet strong enough. The really heartbreaking thing is, in another four or five days, I think she’d’ve been migration-worthy; she was progressing so well…

And a quick update on the flight pens, since we’re on that topic, sort of: A.J. Rogers designed a lovely set of plans for the raptor flight pen—a modification of the larger pens she designed for Bubba & Friends—and I hope to begin construction on it sometime this month. As I have more raptors than songbirds during the fall and winter, this pen is the priority; we’ll get the songbird flight pen constructed after we’re done with the raptor flight.

Now…on to your weekly dose of cute!

The little guy with the puncture wound, while quite alert and eating very well, isn’t healing as quickly as he should. The wound keeps trying to get infected, despite his being on oral and topical antibiotics. We’d had several pus-free days, and this morning it was all drainy and smelly again, so he’s headed for the vet Monday to see what else we can do to speed up healing on this stubborn wound.

The furry four are still in the “eat and pass out” phase, although I’m offering various goodies to tempt them to try solids. No takers yet: the formula’s too darn good and filling!

In the last photo above, I’ve indicated the patagium, the skin flaps that allow flyers to glide, with arrows on each side of this little man’s body.

Below, you can see a side view, circled in this photo.

Belly’s full, time for a nap…

This is the look of a flyer who’s been rudely awakened from a post-nursing coma to be moved back into his pen. I wrap them in a small blanket in my lap as I finish feeding each one, then replace them in the pen after everybody’s done eating. This way I’m sure I feed everybody!

But once we’re all fed and settled back in our pen, we’re all comatose again…

…until time for the next feeding, that is. Then we become quite active!