So let’s start with THAT bird—the red tail who’s recovering from a ruptured crop. See, in his mind, nothing’s wrong with him. His wings work. His feet work. His crop works. So why’s he in captivity and being force-fed food and meds?
You ever tried explaining to an aggressive and confused raptor that he needs your help, whether he believes it or not? Yeah, they don’t listen so well...
So far he’s punctured the backs of both hands, through the handling gloves. The tip of my index finger twice-daily has a new blood blister or outright puncture from feeding him, because he stubbornly refuses to self-feed. That fingertip is numb. I get slapped in the face twice daily by his powerful wings as he bates and tries to get away from me when I take him out to feed and medicate.
And I insulted his ancestry by exasperatedly asking him one morning last week if he was sure he didn’t have some Coop somewhere in his background...
On the plus side, his crop IS functioning beautifully and he only has a few more days on meds—and every morning, like clockwork, there’s a fresh pellet in his box. As soon as he’s off meds and will self-feed, Mister Spastic is going into the mini-pen and then the raptor flight to finish out his recuperation.
As are most screeches, he’s a master of stink-eye. This expression is priceless! “I see you, and I don’t approve. Go away.”