Oddly enough, after last week’s comment that May and June were usually the busiest months for LWR, this week has belied that assertion. Not that I’m complaining, mind you—fewer intakes means fewer critters in distress (hopefully), which is always a Good Thing.
No new releases for this past week, although the Eastern phoebe and blue jay are headed that way pretty soon.
No new releases for this past week, although the Eastern phoebe and blue jay are headed that way pretty soon.
One of the mockers died with no warning overnight, which is always frustrating. They’re perfectly healthy at the last feeding for the night, and stiff the next morning—it happens more often than any rehabber would care to experience.
The other mocker is doing well, though, and chasing crickets around the flight pen. He’s getting pretty good at it, too!
The other mocker is doing well, though, and chasing crickets around the flight pen. He’s getting pretty good at it, too!
The great horned owl continues to mature and is now flying AT the door as often as away from it; his time in the raptor flight is drawing to a close.
Of the three (just three—can ya believe it?!) new intakes for the past week, two were healthy and one had a life-ending injury.
When LWR volunteer Amy called about a great blue heron with what the finders told her was a leg injury, we weren’t real hopeful this was a fixable problem. Still, she arranged for a neighbor who works for DNR to capture the bird and get it to volunteers Laurie and Marshall, who transported it to me.
When LWR volunteer Amy called about a great blue heron with what the finders told her was a leg injury, we weren’t real hopeful this was a fixable problem. Still, she arranged for a neighbor who works for DNR to capture the bird and get it to volunteers Laurie and Marshall, who transported it to me.
When I examined the bird I found only a small “ding” on the right hip, but a gaping open wound with exposed bone at the right elbow. Because it was a fresh injury and there was still a lot of swelling, I medicated for pain, cleaned the wound, started antibiotics and planned to get the bird to the vet the next morning.
Unfortunately, when I re-examined the wound the next morning, the swelling had gone down to the point I was able to see the full extent of the injury. While the joint seemed intact, the flesh was missing from the elbow and about an inch on either side of it. It was basically ripped loose, as were the muscles, and given the location, sutures wouldn’t have held it closed—every time the bird flexed his wing, they would’ve ripped out. And because it was an open wound, there was no way to bind it against his body because of the very high risk of infection, even on antibiotics. Despite my cleaning it the previous night and starting antibiotics, the wound had already hatched maggots and started getting infected the next morning. I suspect there might have been other internal injuries, as well, as he was the least aggressive great blue heron I’ve ever handled. He was euthanized.
The young red shoulder continues to scream his displeasure at life in general. He starts at daybreak to inform the world I’m allowing him to starve. Then, when I go to feed him, he screams as he runs around his cage, alerting the universe to my nefarious plan. He screams while he eats. He screams when his crop is so full the scream comes out as a gurgle. He screams when I look at him. He screams when I don’t look at him. He screams at nightfall when I turn out the lights. Basically, he just screams. He does shut up shortly after the lights go off. Thank God.
The house finch that was the sole survivor of his crashed nest has grown like a weed and is attempting short flights already—what a difference a week can make!
The people who found this pre-fledgling cardinal kept it for three days, feeding it watered-down dog food, the remnants of which you can still see in his neck feathers. A lady who’d brought me a bird several months ago found out about their idiocy and secured the bird, getting him to volunteer Amy ASAP—and just in time, too. When Amy opened the box for me to look at the bird, he shot a stream of projectile diarrhea a good six inches.
Folks, feathers need to be PRISTINE on birds. First, goop on the feathers as they’re coming in and growing out can lead to deadly infections. Second, gooped-up feathers can interfere with flight capability, making a fledgling who’s already at a disadvantage as a “learner” flyer an even easier target for predators. Third, cat or dog food is an acceptable emergency diet ONLY for 12-24 hours because IT WILL CAUSE MASSIVE DIARRHEA, AS WELL AS NUTRITIONAL DEFICIENCIES.
Folks, feathers need to be PRISTINE on birds. First, goop on the feathers as they’re coming in and growing out can lead to deadly infections. Second, gooped-up feathers can interfere with flight capability, making a fledgling who’s already at a disadvantage as a “learner” flyer an even easier target for predators. Third, cat or dog food is an acceptable emergency diet ONLY for 12-24 hours because IT WILL CAUSE MASSIVE DIARRHEA, AS WELL AS NUTRITIONAL DEFICIENCIES.
Fortunately, with a proper diet his diarrhea resolved. The feathers—well, they’ve been cleaned as much as possible; only so much can be done without risking pulling them out. The consolation here is that since these are neck feathers and not wing feathers, his flight shouldn’t be compromised—and in fact, doesn’t seem to be, as he’s taking short flights already.
Along with the cardinal, Amy brought a nestling barn swallow. The finders said the nest had been destroyed in storms the previous night and this little darling was the only survivor.
Now, every rehabber has that handful of species that they just go gaga over. Among my weaknesses are barn swallows. Despite their pissy little faces, they’re among the sweetest birds in the world in rehab, and they’re such cheerful little things that they’ll put a smile on the weariest rehabber’s face. This wee one has had me grinning like an idiot all week.
Barn swallows are among those species that, in the wild, must be able to fly perfectly when they leave the nest. The reason? Barn swallows spend the bulk of their lives in the air; their tiny little legs aren’t designed for prolonged perching. Those wide mouths that give them their pissy looks are designed to allow them to scoop up insects in flight—they eat on the wing and even drink on the wing, diving down to snag a sip of water by flying low over the water source and scooping up a beakful. They’re little aerial acrobats with very little fear of humans –my parents have TWO active nests with nestlings under their carport as I type, and both sets of parents will sweep within inches of our faces as we go in and out the door. While some might find their behavior a little Hitchcockian, we love it!
The nests pictured above, under my parents’ carport, are similar to what the barn swallow rescued from the destroyed nest would have come from. (We call the earlier nest, with the older babies, bottom pic, the high-rise, and the newer nest, top pic, with the younger babies, the low-rent due to the vast differences in their appearance.) Barn swallows build their nests of mud, one beakful at a time, so you can see the tremendous amount of labor that goes into their construction! The stability of these nests depends on where they’re built; the swallows who nest at my parents’ are lucky to have a flat base to build their nests on, as well as good shelter. A nest attached to the side of a wall without a supporting base could easily be dislodged in inclement weather, which is probably what happened with the nestling barn swallow currently a guest at the LWR B&B.
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