"Baby boom"

Yep, that’s what LWR has at the moment, with 13 songbirds coming in yesterday and today. Three separate nests of them…

These babies, whose species is still uncertain, came in after a feral cat wandered into the rescuer’s yard and knocked the nest out of a tree. The rescuer, a young girl, saved five of the six nestlings from the cat but fed them watered-down milk overnight. Once again, folks, birds don’t have boobs—they cannot digest milk properly! Luckily, these babies seem to be doing well so far, although you can still see bits of dried milk on their little faces. The stuff sticks to their skin like glue; I’m flaking it off bit by bit to avoid ripping skin off with it. Their begging cry sounds familiar, but I can’t quite place it. I know what they’re NOT: they’re not mockers or robins or bluebirds or any of the other birds I commonly see in rehab this time of year. By next week, as the feathers come in, we should be able to identify these wee ones. In the meantime, the guessing games are an endless source of amusement and bemusement.

These house finches were almost ready to fledge when their nest was found in a tractor trailer that was headed to Parts North.  Finches are sweet little birds but can be stubborn about eating at this age. Fortunately, the little runt, last hatched and smaller than his sibs, is a rabble rouser—when he starts begging for food, no one wants to be left out!

Today people at a local business pulled a twig from the grille of one of their delivery trucks that hadn’t been used in a while, and this nest of Carolina wrens fell out. The nest was pretty much destroyed, and the business needed the truck, so they called LWR within an hour of finding the wrens.

I had just mentioned to a fellow rehabber the morning this influx started that I felt like I was walking around with my shoulders hunched, waiting for the blow, and sure enough, the “baby boom” began!

The mocker has been released but is still coming down for supplemental feedings. While he can be irritating at times as he sits 20 feet above me begging for food, it doesn’t take him long to figure out that he’s gotta come closer if he wants anything from me.

This sweet juvenile mourning dove came in after being attacked by a cat. Fortunately, the wound was minor and a short course of antibiotics ensured no infection set in from the cat saliva. As I’ve mentioned before, cat saliva is designed to break down flesh, so antibiotics are a necessity for any wildlife rescued from cats.

The best solution if you don’t want your cats killing birds is to keep your cats indoors. I have cats, and because I love my cats and my birds, the cats stay inside. They’re safer and healthier, and the birds around my yard have one less source of predation to worry about. Cats can decimate a songbird population, folks. I can’t stress it enough: Cats belong inside!!

The dove has also been released—no shots of the release, as she took off like a shot as soon as I offered her the option. I didn’t even have time to attempt to focus the camera on her!

We’re still not quite sure what was going on with this great blue heron (GBH). He came in because the people who found him thought his wing was broken, but an exam by Shelley Baumann of Smalley’s Animal Hospital proved otherwise. 

After a couple of days’ R&R at the LWR bed and breakfast—and more fish than any one bird should legally be allowed to consume—he was also released. I’ve had other GBHs come in in the past who also seemed to just need a few days of regular meals and were then good to go.

He was amazingly tolerant of being handled but was quick to disappear upon release. I did manage one fairly good shot of him before he left, though.

Beaver Butt continues to find new ways to be a brat; his latest is to knock his water dish over, resulting in minor flooding in his storage tub “den”, which I’m lining with puppy pads to absorb most of the spillage. This shot is in front of the rehab tub as he awaits his swim. Note the towel, because he’s also figured out how to get out of the tub on his own and leave a trail of water all down the hallway as he waddles out, sopping wet, in search of me.

He’s also beginning to slap the water with his tail when he’s swimming. I’ve yet to actually witness this, but I hear it and find the watery evidence on my floor. The stubborn little snot refuses to do it while I’m watching, camera at the ready.

And finally, one of those instances where I’m delighted to be proven wrong. Some of you may remember the female Eastern bluebird who came into LWR in February of this year. If you’ll recall, I posted a photo of her wing x-ray, showing a jumbled mess of broken bones between the shoulder and the elbow. It was our considered opinion that she’d never fly again, and I’d been waiting to see how she might pan out as an educational bird, but she adamantly refused to trust me…

Yesterday while I was cleaning her cage, she flew out. Wait—read that again. Never mind, I’ll repeat it. SHE FLEW OUT. She then proceeded to fly all around the rehab area. It wasn’t pretty flight, but a) she wasn’t supposed to ever fly again and b) she’d been confined for three months on the assumption that she was nonflighted.

Today she went into the flight pen, where she’s happily flitting about in short bursts as she regains her stamina. Once she’s had sufficient time to build her strength back up, I’ll be releasing her. Sometimes being proven wrong puts the biggest grin on your face…