I’d venture to say all rehabbers start out with a “save ‘em all” mentality, only to be slapped in the face—quickly—by the reality that we can’t save ‘em all. Those who don’t adapt seldom remain in rehab for long; they get burned out or bummed out and just drop out.
Those of us who do adapt learn to accept that sometimes the only release we can offer is a release from suffering. We develop coping mechanisms, foremost among them a dark, twisted, and often inappropriate sense of humor. We learn to compartmentalize, so that it’s not unusual to regretfully euthanize an animal and ten minutes later be laughing at the antics of another of our rehabs.
But the euthanasias never get easier; the day they do is the day we need to get out of rehab. Oh, the ability to determine an animal needs euthanasia develops to a finely honed skill, obviously. But the regret and heartache—those still sting. Every time.
And I prefaced this update with that philosophical musing because last week was indeed a trying week. Not a single bird that came in survived. All required euthanasia.
The barred owl that came in last Sunday morning? Blind.
The two barreds that came in Monday? Both had open wrist fractures.
Those of us who do adapt learn to accept that sometimes the only release we can offer is a release from suffering. We develop coping mechanisms, foremost among them a dark, twisted, and often inappropriate sense of humor. We learn to compartmentalize, so that it’s not unusual to regretfully euthanize an animal and ten minutes later be laughing at the antics of another of our rehabs.
But the euthanasias never get easier; the day they do is the day we need to get out of rehab. Oh, the ability to determine an animal needs euthanasia develops to a finely honed skill, obviously. But the regret and heartache—those still sting. Every time.
And I prefaced this update with that philosophical musing because last week was indeed a trying week. Not a single bird that came in survived. All required euthanasia.
The barred owl that came in last Sunday morning? Blind.
The two barreds that came in Monday? Both had open wrist fractures.
The red shoulder that came in Thursday? Leg broken so badly his foot faced backward.
It was NOT a good week. The sole redeeming factor for the week was that Georgia experienced an amazing reappearance of the Northern Lights the night of the 11th—the vivid red was actually bright enough to see with the naked eye. So rather than leave y’all with all gloom and doom, here’re a couple of shots of the aurora borealis as seen from my property.
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