Cats and guns and snakes—oh my!

(With apologies to The Wizard of Oz...)

Sorry y’all, it was too good a header to resist—and accurate, to boot. It doesn’t portend a depressing read, though, so stick with me!

Where to begin? The swifts were released and took off so quickly I managed nary a photo or video clip of their departure. I don’t know who was happier, me or them. I suspect me; swifts are an enormously labor- and time-intensive undertaking, and I’m glad I don’t see them often in rehab.

The cardinal with the labored breathing died within a 30-minute span between feedings early last week. His breathing had improved drastically; he was alert and active and demanding food…and then he was dead. No clue as to what happened.  Adding to the general confusion, the singleton Carolina wren died overnight, although late that evening I suspected he was headed out; he’d just gotten “the look.”  Experienced rehabbers know “the look”—it’s hard to describe; you just know something’s not right and all the fight’s gone. Again, no clue…

This is one of the most frustrating aspects of wildlife rehab, losing birds when there doesn’t seem to be a logical reason for it. It’s why I snort derisively when people try to flatter me with compliments like “Oh, you know so much…” Nah, y’all, as I’m fond of saying, I fly by the seat of my pants and hope like hell my britches don’t rip. I suspect any rehabber who’s honest about it will ‘fess up to the same feeling.

As I said, though, this actually wasn’t a horrid week. The possum is in outside caging now, awaiting enough growth for release. He’s totally self-feeding and still the messiest possum I’ve ever seen. 

The truck grille wrens have shot up like weeds and are ready for release later this week, if the weather holds.  Look at those fuzzy heads! I love their old man fluff (technically the last of their nestling down)!

The barred owls are starting to move around the flight pen a bit more. One seems pretty unfazed when I walk in to give them fresh rodents and water; the other always heads as far away from me as possible within the confines of the pen.

The juvenile Mississippi kite has done his fair share of growing since last week, as well, but is still a mouthy little rascal where food is concerned. No vids of him this week; the uncooperative little snot will stop in mid-cry and glare silently at the camcorder!

This late-nestling blue jay (trust me; for all his size, he can’t fly yet) was found on the ground by a couple late one evening last week. They looked for a nest, couldn’t find one, and called LWR. Early the next morning, Sir Jay was at the LWR bed ‘n’ breakfast. He’s a smart little rascal, as befits his corvid status, and of course, oozes personality!

“But what about that header?” I can just hear you asking…

This juvenile grackle was rescued from free-roaming cats. His rescuer, whose cat is safely confined indoors, said she looked out her window to see strays batting the bird around. She retrieved him, got him to me, and liked my suggestion that she purchase or rent a humane trap and start taking all the neighborhood strays to the shelter.

I have to admit, I was so tired and sleep-deprived when this guy came in that I couldn’t decide if he was a species of blackbird or a grackle. I posted pix on Facebook for my fellow rehabbers to see and was slightly comforted by the fact that for a while, they also debated grackle versus blackbird!

In addition to having all his tail feathers ripped out, the grackle also had a nasty puncture wound just above his preen gland and bruising and scrapes up the side of his hip. (The preen gland is a small, oil-filled gland just above the base of the tail; when a bird preens, it spreads oil from this gland over the feathers, waterproofing them.) The feathers will grow back; the puncture wound looked pretty nasty and deep.

A week of antibiotics later, the grackle is an ill-tempered denizen of the LWR B&B with a nicely healed wound and would like nothing better than to pack his bags and leave. Normally, I hold tail-featherless birds until I see some regrowth starting, but this guy has escaped several times when I’ve opened his cage door to medicate him, and he flies and maneuvers quite well, so as soon as his time on meds is up, I’ll be bidding him farewell.

When the call came from a coastal county about a Mississippi kite with a wing injury, I just kind of figured it was an unlucky juvenile. To my surprise, it was an adult with a broken wing. The swelling and infection were so bad, though, that I couldn’t even feel the extent of the break; he would need x-rays.

Vet Jim Hobby of Smalley’s Animal Hospital saw the kite, and the first thing we noticed on the x-ray was…a pellet. Yep, the kite had been shot. The break might be fixable but until we had the infection under control, which would help bring the swelling down, as well, there was nothing Jim could do.

The wound now smells like raw flesh, not pus, so the meds are working and later this week, the kite will go back in for Jim to reassess and determine what, if anything, we can do for the fracture.

Of course, kites are federally protected birds, making his shooting both a state and federal crime. Even though there’s no real way to determine who shot the bird, the necessary reports were sent to both Georgia DNR and USFWS, and I’ve heard back from both agencies. They’re investigating to the fullest extent they can and while I know the odds aren’t in their favor, I still hope we have a miracle and they can find and prosecute the jackass who shot this bird.

And when a bluebird enthusiast saw a snake near her nest box full of nearly ready to fledge nestlings, she ran it off after making sure it had no suspicious lumps or bulges that would indicate it had snacked on her babies, but discovered that its presence must have frightened the babies into fledging early. Only one remained near the box, unable to fly. It’s not unusual for the last hatch to be a day or two behind his sibs in development and in leaving the nest.

This little girl isn’t thrilled with her current digs. She’s old enough to know human hands shouldn’t be touching her but still a wee bit too young to fly, although she tries her best. Add to that the trauma of seeing her family attacked and scattered by a snake, and you have a very unhappy little girl. Sometimes the traumatized babies settle down; sometimes they remain distrustful.

Bluebirds are such gentle little loves that I hesitated to put her in with the larger and (usually) more aggressive blue jay. But he’d settled down and accepted that I provided food, so I thought maybe the old “monkey see, monkey do” rule might work. While she still won’t gape and doesn’t want to be handled, she has calmed down a bit, and sometimes when I go in to feed them, they’re nestled companionably next to each other—but as soon as I whip out the camera, they separate! I won’t give up that easily, though—I want a photo of these two unlikely roomies!