On 6-22 I received a call about two baby Eastern kingbirds that the lady’d been feeding since 6-18—that’s 5 days. She worked in a vet clinic and a client had brought them in. Instead of abiding by state and federal law and contacting a licensed wildlife rehabilitator to take the birds, she decided to play Lone Ranger and rehab them herself…yeah, we all know how that’s gonna play out, right?

On the phone she said she’d been taking “very good” care of them and “trying” to feed them every half hour, but one seemed dehydrated.  Interesting that she suddenly was able to locate me when things started going south, no?

Kingbirds are on the decline but are not listed as a species of concern…yet. I agreed to meet the lady and take the birds, figuring that her cobbled-together diet would have them nutritionally down, at the very least. I was totally unprepared for what I saw when I got the birds.

One was dying and didn’t even survive the 20 minute drive to my home. The other had the worst case of diarrhea I’ve seen in a while in birds. Both the DOA and the survivor looked as if they’d bathed in their food.

I bit my tongue really hard and told the lady that bird feathers needed to be pristine in order not to compromise their flight ability. She replied that she didn’t know how to clean them and then asked me why there was no information on how to feed them online. I again bit my tongue and explained that since songbird rehab is state and federally regulated, we don’t post the approved diets for just anybody to access; that would be encouraging lawbreaking.

So…I get the corpse and the diarrhea baby home and immediately begin getting together the stuff I need to bathe the poor bird. Look at the food and poop on his wings and legs…look at the unhealthy color and consistency of that poop.

As I begin bathing the poor, bedraggled thing, I notice that THE LEFT WING IS BROKEN. How in hell do you have a bird for FIVE days and not notice a broken wing??? He also was unhealthily thin and frantically demanding food.

Okay, let’s review…she kept the birds in violation of state and federal law; called me only when she’d killed one bird and possibly doomed the other to a life in captivity; managed to ignore the rampant diarrhea; totally ignored basic hygiene; and nearly starved the surviving bird to death...

Within a few hours of proper food, the diarrhea had resolved. Three baths later, most of the gunk was off the feathers, although I went very easy on the broken wing, despite the fact that I thought I could feel a callus already, meaning the bone had healed—in an improper position that could hinder the bird’s ability to fly.

I took the clean and normally pooping, albeit thin, bird to Smalley’s Animal Hospital this morning, where vet Shelley Baumann confirmed that the broken wing had indeed already developed a callus and was stable in its droopy position. Shelley is hopeful that since the bird is young and has never experienced flight, when he does attempt to fly he’ll compensate for the droopy wing naturally, having never known anything else. If not, we both agreed that having never experienced freedom, he should adapt well to life in captivity as an educational bird, assuming there are no later complications from the improper diet or the improperly healed bone.

So…one bird died for no reason; another may never experience the joy of free flight—and all because some fool wanted to play rehabber, without the proper permits, training or experience. What makes it worse is that, as I mentioned earlier, kingbirds are on the decline. Even two birds out of the breeding population could make a difference…

Do you now understand why I get so worked up about having the proper permits to work with wildlife?

Let’s start this update by recognizing a woman who went beyond the call of duty to reunite an unnested mocker with its mother. I don’t remember Kimberly’s last name, but she called me late one afternoon and explained that her children had found a mocker nestling on the ground in their back yard. She didn’t have access to a vehicle until the next day, as her husband was out of town with their truck, and she wanted to know what to do to keep the baby going until she could get it to me. I asked if she knew where the nest was, and as luck would have it, she did. I explained that she could try to re-nest the bird first, and in case that failed, I walked her through what she needed to do until she could get the bird to me. The next morning, I didn’t hear from Kimberly, so I figured she’d either re-nested the baby or it hadn’t made it through the night. Late that afternoon, she called, laughing, to tell me that her husband had backed their truck up to the tree and the children steadied an extension ladder in the truck bed while she climbed up to put the baby mocker back with its siblings in the nest. One of the other sibs jumped out in the process, and she made sure it was re-nested, as well.  Kudos to Kimberly for a job well done—it’s always better if the parents can raise their own young, if at all possible, and she went the extra mile to make sure this happened!

Now for my hall of shame entry: the same week that Kimberly went over and above to reunite an avian family, another lady who didn’t even bother to give her name called. She had taken a baby bird from her cat the night before. She didn’t want it in her house, so she put it in the car for the night. At noon, when she called me, on her way to work, the bird had not been fed and she’d left it at home. She wouldn’t get off until 9 pm. I bit my tongue really hard—can’t be rude to the public, no matter how desperately you want to tell them how many flavors of idiot they are—and explained to her that the bird would be dead or dying by the time she got off work that night. Her response?  “Oh. Well, I just couldn’t let the cat kill it.” Really? So “saving” it from a quick death at the cat’s paws only to allow it to starve to death slowly was okay in her twisted logic??  Someone explain that one to me, please…

Just days after having to euthanize the wood duckling with the neck deformity, another even younger wood duckling came in. Nature abhors a vacuum!

This little one is growing by leaps and bounds; I swear I think he doubled in size over the weekend.

The “trash” you see floating in the water is actually tiny worms that he likes to nibble on while swimming. Okay, nibble is too dainty a word. He inhales the things like a little downy vacuum cleaner!

The flight pen blue jays from the last update have been released but are still coming down for supplemental feedings. Blue jays are such shameless little beggars. Today one came screaming down for his handout…with a very fat, juicy grasshopper in his beak!

And this little blue jay came in as the youngest I’ve seen in a while. I’d almost forgotten how awkward they look when their feathers are coming in, bless his sweet little heart! He’s now in the flight pen, as well.

This nestling red bellied woodpecker looks like she’s bruised and battered, but what you’re seeing is her bare skin and the muscles that allow her to use that tail for balance when clinging to a tree. The tree her nest was in was downed in a storm and her sibling was killed.

This is her five days after intake…

…and here she is just yesterday, in the flight pen.  Woodpeckers as a rule are just cantankerous, ornery birds, but I always take into account that I’d probably be the same way if my first clear thought was the realization that I’d spend the rest of my life banging my head against a tree!

These little rabbits came in covered with fire ant bites. They were quite literally scabs covered with fur. I’ve never seen so many ant bites on live animals before, and I didn’t expect them to make it, but I started antibiotics anyway. Rabbits are such stressy critters—only 10% survive their first year in the wild, and that’s actually considered an acceptable release rate for rehabbers, as well. Some rehabbers won’t even take in rabbits because of their propensity to stress out and die. These little ones were lucky; the antibiotics worked and they were released early this morning.

This juvenile red shouldered hawk came in last week. He was unnested by a severe storm in a neighboring county.

While he’s small even for a red shoulder, in his little mind he thinks he’s a ferocious giant, as evidenced by this pose. I will say that he knows how to draw blood with that beak when his feet and body are restrained for feeding. I’m not having to force feed, just to hand feed. This consists of quickly cramming the food in his beak while he’s very loudly cussing me out. To give you an idea of what that’s like, turn your radio or television up to speaker-rattling volume and stand right in front of it. Something operatic, very soprano, would be best. Now take the smelliest, slimiest food you can find and toss it on yourself while simultaneously pricking your fingers repeatedly with a sharp knife. There you have it: that’s a quieter and cleaner version of feeding a resistant red shoulder!

And finally, this nestling mocker came in this morning. He was still a bit confused by the change of venue when I snapped this photo, but by his bedtime he was back in rare form…typical mocker; very little fazes them for long!

Don’t forget that today was the first day of summer and the longest day of the year. Beginning tomorrow, the days will start to get shorter by just minutes a day until fall arrives with its blessedly cooler temperatures.

Okay, rant first, people—if I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a gazillion (only slight exaggeration) times: orphaned/injured/ill wildlife should be gotten to a wildlife rehabber ASAP. Everyone can look up the number of whatever agency in their state handles hunting & fishing; the same people usually regulate wildlife rehab, too, and can provide names and numbers for the rehabber nearest you.

What brought on the rant this time?  Person calls me on May 31 with one surviving hatchling robin, app. 8 days old by my estimation. When the person found the nest on the ground there were three healthy babies in it. This person first tried to place the blame for not calling me earlier on another rehabber, then claimed they could never reach me at the very same number they were now calling. Folks, my phone is on and on or near my person 24/7/365, so I know that’s not true. Then the caller began sobbing to me about how they had tried so hard and now this last baby wasn’t looking healthy…as usual, when some untrained person screws things up, then they can suddenly find my number and cry for me to clean up their mess. I asked what the birds had been fed…baby food using their finger. People, even your little finger is too blasted big to be shoving down a hatchling bird’s throat! And without sterilizing the finger before each feeding, Lord knows what kinds of foreign bacteria were introduced to the bird’s gut…I took some sadistic pleasure in the fact that the caller had sweltered for 3 days in a closed-off bedroom with the heater on as they fed the birds every half hour round the clock, day and night. Stupidity can be painful!

Anyway, I now have the robin, and so far he seems to be doing well, thank goodness. I’m worried about possible splay leg, as he was without proper support for three days, but we’ll have to wait and see what develops as he grows.

Point of rant? Repeat after me—you should know this mantra by heart now: “Rehabbers are licensed for a REASON.”  We have the training and hands-on experience to handle these situations. Would you practice medicine without a license? Would you perform brain surgery or spay a cat without a license? Then what in blue blazes makes you think it’s okay to attempt wildlife rehab without a license???

*Sigh* I realize that I’m preaching to the choir here…but at least I feel better after ranting!

Now for the raves: Is this not the cutest little bird you’ve ever seen? This pre-fledgling chickadee (Carolina; the black capped are generally in Parts North) came in on Memorial Day and, to use an old expression, sulled up for an entire day before deciding to gape for food.

And in the “so ugly I’m cute” category, we have this downy turkey vulture.  While I know that most people aren’t terribly fond of adult vultures, let me remind you again that they serve an important purpose; without vultures, we’d be knee-deep in rotting road-kill and other carcasses.

This little guy hissed and growled and lunged for food the entire time I had him; he’s now at Bubba & Friends Raptor Rehab (www.bubba-and-friends.org).

Another “cute through the stratosphere” baby is this downy screech owl. He was with me for only a few days before going to Bubba & Friends, as Steve Hicks had another downy screech coming in and we decided the two needed to be together. Steve says they’re so close in age they might as well have come from the same nest, so that worked out well for everyone concerned!

The red shouldered hawk who came in as a downy baby blossomed into a gorgeous teenager before going to Bubba & Friends for flight conditioning and hunting lessons. (Scroll down to previous two updates to see her progress.) Look at this lady! Steve said today that she has virtually no down left but retains her diva attitude: Her food must be in the exact same place every day or she won’t eat it!

The possums have all been released now and gone their oblivious little ways.

As promised in the last update, here’s a photo of some of the released Carolina wrens, sunning themselves in the brush.  They’re slower to wean off the post-release supplemental feedings, but we’re getting there.

We also had another two Carolina wrens come in; they were little “naked babies” at intake, and very cold and lethargic. I was more worried about their survival than getting photos at that point. The next couple of days were touch-and-go, but they’re doing great now.

The flight pen mocker was released shortly after the last update and was promptly replaced by two new mockers and the finch in the flight pen! They were released today to make room for the two blue jays who came in a couple of days apart.

This hatchling Carolina wren came in just tonight; his nest was found in the bumper of a truck after it had been moved from its original location all day, so his one sibling had died from a combination of dehydration and starvation. Carolina wrens must be fed every 15-20 minutes at this tender age. To his credit, the man who found them called his wife immediately; she had brought animals to me in previous years and called me about this wee one. He’s weak but gaping and is still getting alternating fluids and food as I type; normally baby songbirds aren’t fed at night, but this little fellow missed so many feedings today that I’ll be feeding him most of the night to try and ensure his survival.

And finally, a huge welcome to newly-minted vet Richie Hatcher, who’s joined the talented and amazing vets at Smalley’s Animal Hospital. I baptized him by fire today with two intakes who required euthanasia; hopefully the next time I see him I’ll have something we can save!