Here are some more photos of the bald eagle release last Sunday. The first image is a composite of the Wisconsin River. Very small on left side is the hydroelectric dam. If we have an extremely cold winter and the river freezes over above the dam, the bald eagles concentrate in this area because they’re able to find food. Mostly fish, but they will also take some waterfowl. This year the birds are more dispersed. About 25 miles north there is a river from which a dam has been removed. Consequently, the favorite fish of the bald eagle, shad,  has greatly increased in population and many eagles have been observed roosting and fishing along the Baraboo River.

This female immature bald eagle was the second to be released. Here Marge opens her wing so we can get an idea of the wingspan and see the coloration indicating this bird’s age. Female raptors are usually larger than males. These females weighed about 12 pounds each.

The last eagle returned to the wild that day was this female, who was about 4 years old. If you look at the bird’s head, you can see that she is developing a sort of mask. This is what happens the year before the head and tail start to turn the characteristic white which unmistakably identifies the birds as American Bald Eagles.

I went to the Center for Birds of Prey in Charleston on Thursday to visit Nick. Thought you would all enjoy the update………………

Nick is absolutely thriving. He seems to be very happy, has bonded with his caretaker and has a beautiful enclosure to call home. The cage is about 20′wx 15′D x15″H, has natural perches and trees and is a corner unit overlooking the marsh.
His flight training is going well, and he’s been to a few schools to do demonstrations. His caretaker wants to do some things like hide food in a box that Nick would have to open to show the kids how smart crows are. He is still inquisitive and comical – the same Nick that left here in August.

One of the most exciting things for me was the fact that he recognized me! When we went to his house, we approached from the back. Nick couldn’t see me but when I called his name he answered with his usual squawk and flew to the door to investigate. When we opened the door, he flew to my arm and put his head down for me to kiss the top of his head as I did when he lived here. He also made the cooing noise that he regularly made here and is common to young crows. Nick’s caretaker was convinced that he recognized me by the body language and the fact that he made noises to me that they had never heard from him before.

The trainer and I took Nick to the flight area and he flew back and forth to us as he would in his flight demonstrations. He did a great job. That was no surprise because he was always a great flier.

Attached are some photos of the two of us – horrible pictures of me, but as you will see, Nick looks great.
I had a raptor glove on my hand because when Nick is doing flight demos, he’s trained to land only from the glove. We didn’t want to confuse him by letting him land on my bare arm.

Even though the Gold’s and most of the neighborhood miss Nick very much, eveyone should be happy that he ended up in such a great place.

The Center for Birds of Prey is a  wonderful place to visit if you’re in the Charleston area. I’m sure Nick would love to see you!

On February 13, 2010, there will be a fundraiser buffet with live music and a free raffle at the Indian Island Country Club in Riverhead, NY.
Have some fun on a saturday night and support the rehabilitation of wild animals on Long Island!
Please click on the picture below for a link to more information on the event from the Wildlife Rescue Center of the Hamptons!

Onions, octopi, the Pope wearing a fish on his head… This Blog’s going all over the place. Now it’s going to Borneo.

Here’s one from the archives.

An account of an expedition made by myself, my wife and my brother up a river in Borneo in search of Birds Nests.

SAILING THE BIRDS NEST ROAD.

Jungle lines the mighty Kinabatangan river

Some time in the 7th century, reports filtered out of the forests of northern Borneo that there were caves at a place called Gomantong – huge limestone caves – filled with millions of cave swiftlets.

Where there are swiftlets there are swiftlets’ nests.

And where there are swiftlets’ nests, sooner or later (usually sooner) there are daredevils willing to clamber up terrifyingly precarious bamboo and rattan ladders to collect them for China’s gourmet soup bowls.

Fourteen centuries later, the Gomantong caves of what is now Sabah province, Malaysian Borneo, are still here. So are the swiftlets; nests; gourmet demand; and so, too, are the daredevils.

The Gomantong caves were traditionally reached by travelling inland from the coast up the Kinabatangan river and then its tributary the Menanngul.

Indeed the Kinabatangan owes its name to the ancient trade route  -  for ‘kina’ read China.

That’s how we’d get to Gomantong we decided. You can simply drive there or hire a taxi from Sandakan town, the domestic airport city on the coast, but where’s the fun in that ?

No, we’d go the old way.

The interesting way.

The water way; by boat  from the coast – through the Kinabatangan flood plain and what the Sabah Tourism Promotion Corporation (accurately) calls “the greatest concentration of wildlife in Malaysia and possibly all of Borneo”.

By boat from the coast. Up “The Birds Nest Road”!

THE LAND BENEATH THE WINDS.

The poetic name for Sabah is “The Land Beneath the Winds.”  And a glimpse at the wonky ‘Waterworld’-style stilt villages of Sandakan town on the Sulu sea makes one very glad that Sabah is below the typhoon belt.

Friendly Malaysians, a beautiful people

The complex maze of boards, barnacle encrusted ironwood stilts, flimsy ladders and crooked shanties that rise above the mud flats are a delight to explore, but one can’t help feeling even a mild movement of air would send the whole lot tumbling down.

Sandakan is the beginning of the Bird’s Nest Road and it is here in the stilt villages that our trip begins.

First though, a word or two about Sandakan. Simply stated, there’s no more atmospheric place for the Road to begin.

Sure, it’s got some uninspiring concrete apartment blocks and its own fair share of car exhaust and Internet cafes but, despite the incursions of modernity, Sandakan remains delightfully schizophrenic.

Part of the population rolls out of bed, puts on a suit and commutes off for a day of accounts and air-conditioned office work.

Others, though, roll off mats,  don sarongs, hop into a small boat and leave town for days or even weeks of pottering about among the islands and coral heads of the clean, clear waters of the Sulu sea in search of fish, pearls and whatever else comes their way.

As is the case in most of Malaysia, the population is a mix of Chinese and Malay. Mosques rub shoulders with dragon temples, joss sticks with prayer mats. Adding further spice to the cultural mix here, though, are people from the Philippines archipelago just north of Sabah and Sea Gypsies who come polling in off the shallow Sulu Sea with boats that groan beneath the weight of fish (and smuggled items).

The markets here are an orgy of tropical “surf and turf”.  Tiger sharks lie on slabs besides wicker baskets containing 40 kilogram jackfruit, rays next to foul-smelling (but allegedly delicious) durian fruit, orchids glow next to flying fish.  There are buckets of grappling crabs, mountains of multi-coloured seaweed,  chunky mangrove prawns, coral beads, blow pipes, coconut milk, spice piles – all arrayed in murky warehouses that echo to the bargaining of a thousand customers and the exaggerated claims of a hundred merchants.

Great fun. And not to be missed.

THE WILD MAN OF BORNEO AND SEPILOK

No travelogue set in Sabah, or indeed Sarawak or Kalimantan (Indonesia’s portion of this, the world’s third largest island), would be complete without a reference to the “Wild Man of Borneo” aka the orang utan (lit: the man of the forest), Asia’s only great ape.

Set in the mangrove forests that flank Sandakan and the entrance to the Kinabatangan lies the Sepilok Forest Reserve and Orang Utan Sanctuary. This rainforest reserve covers 43 square kilometers and positively bulges with red, hairy, pot-bellied life forms.

Sepilok is one of the great Borneo institutions. Since 1964, apes confiscated from smugglers or pet owners by the authorities have been released here, usually after a course of rehabilitation.

Like hijack victims, orangs often develop an odd, dependent, even affectionate, bond with their captors. Curing this simian version of “Stockholm Syndrome” involves teaching the apes that they are apes and aren’t human beings.

“It can take a while,” one ranger explains. “Months, actually. Sometimes longer.”

The rehab process involves weaning the patients off man-made comforts such as television, cigarettes and popcorn and slowly reintroducing them to the complexities of apeish life in the wild.

Food is provided at first to supplement natural forage but then reduced as the Orangs find their feet. And their hands.

“Half way house” animals are prone to anarchic behaviour such as banana fights, spraying milk over park wardens during feeding sessions or galloping off with visitors cameras.

Again, great fun. And not to be missed.

THE AMAZON OF BORNEO

Aerial view of the mighty Kinabatangan, snakey jungle river

The Kinabatangan river has been called, “The Amazon of Borneo”. Although it is nowhere near the size of the Amazon – a good swimmer could cross the Kinabatangan at any point of its flow whereas the far bank of the Amazon is often so distant that it is invisible and one might as well be looking at a sea rather than a river – the Kinabatangan does have that wild Amazon ‘feel’.

It doesn’t have a single mouth but rather empties into the Sulu Sea in the form of countless twisting channels that form a complex delta.

This is what Victorian explorers and adventure story writers call “mangrove swamp”. The word “swamp”, though, with its attendant set of negative images (malaria, stinking mud, quicksand, man-eating crocodiles, dysentery, doom, damnation and death) is misleading. Mangrove trees actually filter and purify the water that flows through their complex masses of roots and are highly productive breeding grounds for fish and shrimp.

The Kinabatangan mangroves are gorgeous and fizz with life.

Mudskippers hop, pistol shrimps (somehow) make extraordinary cracks and pops with their pincers, egrets float like graceful ghosts through the trees. Everywhere one looks there is something well worth looking at.

This is the domain of the Orang Sungai (lit: the men of the river) who paddle the byways in hollowed out log boats.

Cheerful folk the Orang Sungai. Always ready with a smile and a wave and a bucket of mangrove prawns.

As they wind inland from the mangroves at the coast, the various river channels come together and by the time one reaches the village of Sukau there is no longer any doubt about it. One is no longer in the Kinabatangan delta. One is very definitely on the Kinabatangan river proper.

WEB FOOTED, FLAPPY NOSED, DIVE BOMBERS

Being dive bombed by pickle-barrel-bellied, spindly-legged, permanently-erect, web-footed, flappy-nosed proboscis monkeys is one of life’s more unusual pleasures. If you’d like to give it a go then there is no better place to come than the Kinabatangan or its many tributaries.

What happens is this.  Along you drift, watching the life of the riverbank – the water buffaloes being driven along by small boys, the lush forest, the herons hunched thoughtfully over the water, the half-naked children exchanging fire with potentially lethal bamboo “bottle rockets” (playful little scamps! Just don’t get in the face by a projectile!) and then  suddenly from the treetops come monkeys.

They leap outwards and up, then curve outwards and down and finally – spladoosh ! – there is an explosion of spray as they hit the water.

(Or a smashing of timbers as they go through the bottom of your boat.)

Proboscis monkey, male

Its not just the proboscis monkeys that pull this spectacular stunt. Gibbons do it. Long-tailed macaques do it. Pig-tailed macaques do it. Silver leaf monkeys, red leaf monkeys, and grey leaf monkeys do it. Even orang utans (who normally abhor water and are famous for constructing home-made leaf umbrellas during thunderstorms) do it in extremis.

But the proboscis monkeys do it best. Partly because they are so heavy and throw up such quantities of water. Mostly because the wind generated by their flight makes their normally preposterous noses flap in an even more preposterous fashion than usual.

Locals (whose nasal protuberances are not particularly prominent) refer to proboscis monkeys as “Dutchman’s Nose monkeys” – a hangover from colonial days when the large, red, sunburned hooters of the Dutch made a considerable impression on “the natives.”

CHONG.

Our boatman-cum-guide-cum proprietor of the Labuk Bed and Breakfast, Robert Chong,  explains that monkeys in this area do this to reduce the amount of time spent in the water while crossing rivers. The further they jump, the less chance they have of ending up inside one of the Kinabatangan’s copper-coloured crocodiles.

One could spend many happy and intriguing days exploring the oxbow lakes and myriad tributaries of the Kinabatangan. “Every day the same river is a different river,” Chong observes, pointing out a tangled ball of Waglers pit vipers curled in overhanging branches like a day-glo birds nest. “Those snakes were not here yesterday. Tomorrow? Who knows?”

Malayan Monitor, Menangul

Wagler's Pit Viper

The Sukau stretch of river is experiencing an eco-tourism boom. River side lodges – comfortable ones -  are springing up. Chong’s guest house, the result of seven years working and saving in Canada, is doing well. Elderly Americans in floppy hats clutching binoculars sit in boats watching birds. Hornbills, stork billed kingfishers, darters – any halfway experienced birdwatcher can rack up 100 species in a day here.

Kingfisher

Chong hopes that this burgeoning ecotourism industry will stave off the wave of deforestation that is still inexorably sweeping Sabah and that still threatens everything we see as we sail on south east into the interior.

He hopes so. But he isn’t sure.

exciting jungle river tour

Jungle river

MENANNGUL

The Menanngul river is narrow and though there is movement it is all but imperceptible. Smooth, quiet, the colour of coffee, it is a shining path through the green gloom of the forest. The Sabah forests are some of the oldest on the planet.

The Gomantong caves are close now. Our road is drawing to a close.

TUKANG PEMUNGUT

There can be few more ghastly professions than a “tukang pemungut” (lit: a swiftlet nest harvester).

These caves at Gomantong are immense.

Vast !

Gomantong Cave, Sabah, Malaysia

The roof is a hundred meters above a 25-million year old limestone floor that is carpeted with ammonia guano. Not thick enough to break a fall. Just thick enough to send choking gasses ceiling-wards. On the walls, blind albino cockroaches scuttle. Bats flap. Snakes dangle hoping to snag a passing swiftlet. Poisonous centipedes amble about.

And there in the gloom, at cathedral-nave height, balancing on rattan ladders that wobble and swing and lurch and look upon the point of collapse is the tiny shape of a harvester swinging his pointed stick and dislodging nests which seem to take minutes to float earthwards.

It looks tantamount to suicide! Recklessness bordering on madness!

Just watching him up there is enough to induce panic attacks.

“Locals don’t do it,” Chong explains. “It’s mostly Filipinos from Mindanao.”

The man finally clambers down. His name he says is Din.

DIN

Din at Gomantong Community

“Din,” I ask. “Why do you do it?”

“Good soup,” says Din.  Also, he adds, there’s the money which is better. The only problem being that the money “slips quickly through my hands and flies away like a swiftlet. That’s why I keep coming back.”

Din and others like him.

And for as long as they do, and for as long as the likes of Mr Chiew thrive (see next Blog entry for MR. CHIEW) the Birds Nest Road will be open and very well-travelled.

Verdict ?

Well, at risk of repeating myself -  great fun. And not to be missed !

On Tuesday, 1/5/10, I released a Red Tail Hawk, and on Saturday, 1/16/10 I released a Screech Owl!  I I’ve helped care for MANY birds, but rarely have had the privilege to release them. It is always wonderful to let them go back to the wild.

When I worked at the wildlife center some years ago – from 8/06-5/07, I got to release 6 hawks – 3 at a time – 2 different trips.  I have a small car – almost no backseat at all, cramped in there. I crammed in 3 pet carriers, each carrying either a Red Tail Hawk (the biggest we have in this area) or a Red Shoulder Hawk (slightly smaller). The first trip – no problem. The second trip – the largest red tail tried to bust through the box before I drove off. I’m glad she started doing that before I was on the road. I grabbed more clothes pins to secure the box with, and put more towels over the box, and more clothes pins. It was a scary ride, but the hawk did not get loose in my car. I let her and the other 2 go, it was great!

The red tail hawk I released on the 5th of this month had head trauma. That is the most common raptor injury these days – both hawks and owls get hit by cars.  Owls in general fly fairly low but hawks not so much. However, it can get foggy out in the country, so the hawks fly lower. Hard to imagine a hawk or owl getting hit by a car, but it happens a lot.Sometimes the animals recover just fine, sometimes they sustain an injury, such as a damaged eye, but otherwise recover – thus making them non-releasable animals – they end up in zoos or other nature facilities. Some, their injuries being too great, are put down. This hawk made it.

A female sheriff’s deputy brought the bird in, and called the wildlife center to request attending the release of the bird. The following week after she called, I drove out to a very small town, where I met her – she was in her community service truck. I told her to drive to a spot out in the country and I’d follow. She drove quite far along a muddy dirt path in her truck, and I followed in my Mustang – not the greatest car for going off-road, but I didn’t get stuck.

I got the box out, the deputy got her camera ready. I put on the heavy gloves, and held the hawk for her to take a few photos, then let the hawk go,

The Screech Owl, a tiny bird, very small compared to other owls, also was brought in with head trauma. It recovered quite well, and it was time to let it go. I headed out to the country west of town, found a nice stretch of orchard, parked the car, and got out the box.

I hadn’t brought gloves, and didn’t need them. I just leaned over a barbed wire fence, held up the box high enough, opened it, and the really cute little owl hopped up on the flap of the box, then flew into the orchard. It was just before dusk – perfect time to release the owl.

I worry about the birds I release, and that they will find enough prey, but that is out of my hands.  Mostly though, I feel really good! It’s a wonderful thing to see a rehabilitated animal return to the wild.

Sidney - The Great Horned Teacher

In May of ‘09 I met a bird who opened a door in a certain area of my life. This door provided me the opportunity to view many things from a different perspective and helped me see life from her point of view. She shared something with me, a portion of her life and this portion has had such a great impact on me. She has shared something with me I will remember forever. Let me tell you about a Great Horned Owl named Sidney.

It begins with a man named Jeff, a wildlife enthusiast and photographer. His house sits in front of a woods in which he has the pleasure of viewing and

Sidney tucked high in the trees in her nest

photographing numerous wild animals. Well earlier this year (‘09) he noticed an owl’s nest in the crook of a tree. He began watching this nest numerous times throughout the day and would watch the fuzzy head of a baby Great Horned Owl peering back at him. This fuzzy head and the occasional view of the parents captivated Jeff. He watched day and night and would listen to the calls of the Great Horned Owls in the evening.

One day Jeff woke up to head into work. He noticed the noise outside his windows. It was the wind. It was the noise of strong winds. Jeff thought of the owl in the nest and went out to check. He told me the trees tops were swaying pretty hard and he worried about the baby Great Horned Owl. The nest appeared smaller and smaller each day and the winds this particular morning were doing the stability of the nest no favors. The baby owl sat there staring back at him. He worried this nest wouldn’t make it through the day and he was right. He came home from work that evening and immediately looked for the nest. It wasn’t there. He headed for the woods and there on the ground he saw the occupant that once called that nest home. The owl made no attempt to run away. Jeff worried it was hurt. He put the owl in a box and brought it to Nature’s Nursery.

The director of Nature’s Nursery ordered x’rays and the vet found a badly broken wing. We were

Sidney found after she fell out of her nest

told this owl would never be able to fly again and if it did, it wouldn’t fly very well. First and foremost the mission at Nature’s Nursery is to return rehabilitated animal’s to the wild. In this case, that didn’t look like a possibility. Sid was now going to be an Ambassador for Nature’s Nursery to help in informing the public about the conservation of the Great Horned Owls. The director asked me if I would like to take her home and begin training her. I immediately said yes and I went home to prepare for the accommodations of a fine, young, feathered raptor in which to share my home, my backyard, and hopefully the rest of its life. I was excited in having the opportunity to train her all the while letting and encouraging her to be the owl she is.

I use positive reinforcement training with all the birds in which I work. This type of training is very strong and used in building trust between the bird and the trainer and at the birds pace and with respect to the bird. Positive reinforcement training is very evident if done correctly. The strong bonds and relationship with the trainer is clearly seen.

I contacted some of the best avian trainers in the country to make sure I was setting myself and the owl up correctly. I moved her in and the training relationship started as soon as I placed her in the back seat of my car. If my memory serves me correctly, it was within the first two days that she came out of her enclosure to me on her own free will. I wanted all of our training interactions to be at her own free will and to the best of my ability it was.

Our training was continued success from the beginning. The relationship between the two of us developed quickly. It was at this time that I had  named her Sidney and Sidney was training me right along with me training her. I love training because it is a form of communication between myself and the bird and I let the bird tell me what it does or doesn’t want to do, but if it does what I request of it, I make it well worth the bird’s effort.

Sidney on the glove

I slowly started training Sidney to stand on my glove. This is a photo of the route I chose to take. Now I just needed to get my hand

Sidney outside in the aviary

into it. Once she was on my gloved hand I was then able to take her outside to the aviary which encloses my whole back yard. As she became more comfortable with her surroundings both inside and outside of my house one thing she started doing was flapping her wings. I can only imagine how great that must have felt for her. What a beautiful sight this was to see her outdoors in the aviary. She was so beautiful. Even more so, it was so very stimulating and enriching for her. She perched on top of my parrots playstand posts and would stare at the birds flying above. She’d watch the squirrels play in the neighbors yard. I was so excited to see her so excited!

I continued to train her all hours of the day and well into the evening. My husband and I would be sitting and watching TV when all of a sudden this whirlwind of dust began floating around us. We would look at each other and laugh and turn around to look at Sidney. She’d be sitting on top of her perch

Sidney flapping her wings

flapping her wings as hard as she could while hanging on with those huge talons of hers. At times I thought she’d lift off with the perch in tow. It was amazing to watch. That beautiful wing span, those long, long legs, and the look of shear excitement on her face of her new found skill It wasn’t long before small lift-offs began to happen. She would start flapping her wings both inside the house and out in her enclosure and in the aviary and slowly her talons would let go of her perch and I saw small amounts of flight. I saw Sidney starting to do it more often and I included these small flights in our daily training. I began cueing her from perch to perch and to different objects and to my glove. I made her rewards great and whatever I saw that she didn’t like in our training, I excluded it from our next interaction.

Over the next few weeks my bond with her just soared. I couldn’t wait to wake up or come home and train Sidney. From her reactions she looked forward to it also. I began envisioning a life with a most spectacular Great Horned Owl and those visions would soon turn into a reality.

Over time and continual training, I began to see Sidney’s lift offs take her further and further. She’d fly up to the countertop, to the top of the refrigerator, to

Sidney challenges the plum!

the chair, to the perches throughout the house and the aviary. When I took her in the house I watched her flights become dead on. I started cueing her to her perch in the living room from where she was in the kitchen. BAM! She would hit her target and right on cue. I was amazed by the maneuverability I saw her developing as she would turn corners, fly over objects, and chase toys I threw for her across the ground. These flight skills developed to a point that I picked up the phone and called the director of the rehabilitation center. I told her how well Sidney was flying. This was after Sidney had been with me for a month and a half already. I told her how I was observing Sidney’s small flights and we discussed what the vet had told us.

I kept practicing on her skills. I cued her here and there and up there and down over here and turn and come to me over here. I got it all on video to make sure I could have someone verify what I was seeing. I heard that one of the toughest things for a bird to do was to make sharper flights up and down. So guess what we started practicing? I’d cue her to the top of perches in the aviary from the ground. I’d cue her to the top of perches from the ground. I’d cue her down to a perch from her favored perch in the house. BAM! She started completing these challenges effortlessly and she seemed to really enjoy it.

Video: Sidney flying up to perch on cue (a little slow in her response but that was ok)

Video: Sidney flying down to perch on cue – reinforcer was a toy I made her

I called the director back again after working with Sidney on these behaviors for a while and asked if we could enter her into the release program and I wanted to test her in our new huge flight cage. Our flight cage was just built and was built to observe flight and hunting skills in birds we think are releasable. The director felt bad because she knew how hard I had been working with Sidney. She felt even worse because she said “If Sidney isn’t releasable Lara, you’re going to have to start all over with her.” “I know” I said. “It’s worth a try.” and she agreed and oh how my heart ached at the thought of being separated from her.

There was a young, 2 year old Bald Eagle in the flight cage waiting for release. I sat and waited patiently for the eagle to be released. In the meantime I kept training Sidney further flights and sharper or more complicating areas in which to reach her rewards. I believe the wait was about a week, maybe a little more for the flight cage to become available. I tried limiting my interactions with her to just tactics she would need in the wild. It was tough and it pulled so heavy on my heart strings. I had visions of training her for the rest of her life. It was tough when I returned her to her mew every night and I wished her a good night. I imagined not having the opportunity in seeing her at will and having her flying around my back yard. Each night I returned her, it got tougher and tougher on me. I won’t tell you that I didn’t cry each night, because I did. I grew close to her and she to I.

The day came when I got an e-mail from the director saying the flight cage was ready for Sidney. I wasn’t. I wasn’t ready to see the inside of that flight cage. I sat and balled and balled and balled. I typed her back and said “We’ll be in in the morning.”

Sidney in the one wing of the flight pen

I showed up the next morning with my baseball cap on, my Starbucks coffee in my hand, my sunglasses on, and Sidney in my hand in her carrier. I walked in the back door sat my coffee down (I don’t even drink Starbucks but I started and continue and will continue for Sidney, I’ll explain this here shortly). Everyone turned and looked at me and I pretended like I didn’t notice. I sat Sidney down. I sat my coffee down. I left the hat on. I left the glasses on. I heard “Hey, how ya doing Lara?” and I know the eyes looked down but looked back up for my response. “Oh good. Very good. I think I’m going to take one of the birds for a walk today.” as I made up something to talk about to take my mind off of what was going on. “Oh good” I heard and I heard their conversations continue. I went to the fridge and pulled out food to prepare for the birds. I turned my back to them and stood at the sink pretending I was washing something off as I noticed this huge knot in my stomach! I just wanted to get Sidney to the flight cage asap and just wail!

I kept thinking of scary movies in my head to keep my mind off of the precious cargo sitting on the floor to my right. The director started talking to someone else and I pretended to gather food. I didn’t know what the hell I was doing. I remember I kept thinking “Pay attention to what your doing. What would I do any other day I walked in here?” I don’t know, I couldn’t think. Thought processes happened but only in spurts. I finally opened my ears to the conversation behind me and it took my mind away from hurling in the sink. I finally started laughing and turned around and joined in the conversation. The conversation wasn’t even about a bird but in my mind I started putting Sidney’s face into the equation of the conversation. The director said something and looked at me. I felt my eyes burning. They started getting hot and I felt pressure in my head. In my head I thought “Don’t you dare. You stop it right now.” I saw the director hesitate in her talking to me and the other girl there. She did a cautious double take at me and I looked down and grabbed my coffee and shoved it in my mouth. It didn’t help. My bottom lip started quivering so bad and my hand started shaking. I pushed the cup closer to my lips and tipped but it didn’t stop the quivering. I said “Geesh, I’m spilling my coffee.” as I turned quick on my heels and headed to the bathroom to pretend to wipe the coffee from my chin. I came back out and they quickly moved themselves to the other room before I came back out. I grabbed my cargo and slipped out the back door.

I walked into that flight cage for the first time ever. I never even went in to take a look at it the whole year it was being built. I walked in and it was huge. It was glorious. I sat Sidney down, opened her door and held my glove in front of her and asked her to step up. She didn’t. She was petrified. She was in a new place and she had no idea where she was. I asked for a step up again and her eyes were wide and the pupils were so dilated. I backed off. I heard a foot. I heard one more and them boom she took off running out of the carrier and into full flight. This place is huge. I opened her bag of toys and started taking all of them out.

My new office with Sidney in the background

The next day I bought a table and a chair. I told the director I wanted to sit with Sidney everyday and get her skills on video. I sat

Sidney and I playing with one of her toys

with her for 6 hours a day everyday. I sat there and worked on my presentations for upcoming bird behavior seminars. I watched her fly each day. I played with her. I ran she chased. She flew, I chased. I laughed and she continued to fly to me for her toys I made her. After a few days I stopped fooling myself and knew I had to withdraw. I stopped training her. I stopped throwing her toys for her. I stopped feeding her mice to her.

One of the programmers came over and watched me feed Sidney from my glove before I stopped. He told me something I never knew. He said feeding an owl from the glove is not an easy thing to do in comparison to other raptors. I was surprised and asked why. He said that owls tend to need more of a trusting relationship to develop with the trainer more so than other raptors. They won’t eat from you unless they truly trust you whereas hawks, falcons, kestrels, etc are very food motivated and will just work for food. He said not so with the owl. Me???? not what I needed to hear at that moment when Sidney was walking up and taking the morsel from my hand. The lip started quivering. I stopped it though and looked at her and said “Sidney, you are a superb girl you know that?”

Sidney getting ready to feed from my glove

So I stopped training her. I stopped feeding her from my glove. I would walk in everyday and set up my computer. She would stare at me. I would talk to her but I wouldn’t feed her. She’d cock her head with that owl thing they do. I would just stare back at her and tell her “It’s time to be an owl, Sid.”

Sidney and her favorite Starbucks Cup toy

The next day I came in and sat down. My computer in my bag next to me. My coffee at my feet. I looked at my chair. I looked at the table. I looked back up at Sid and said “Someone’s been sitting in my chair.” There were dusty foot prints all over my chair. There were stones on my table. The day before I left and left my empty Starbucks on the table with her toys inside just the way she likes it. The cup was on the ground. The toy wasn’t anywhere near. I laughed and said “Looks like someone was having fun last night.” I looked for her rat that I gave her the day before. I couldn’t find it. That was good. “She’s eating.” I thought. I sat down in the chair and just stared at her. I couldn’t move. I was numb. She stared back. I didn’t get up and go walking to her as I usually did. I told her I loved her. I always told her I loved her. We sat and stared at each other for about another 5 minutes. I wasn’t getting up. She needed to lose this connection, so did I. I glanced down and something caught my eye. I looked up fast and caught the last part of her feet leaving the perch about 50′ in front of me and sat and watched what felt like slow motion of her flying straight to me. I couldn’t move. I didn’t want to. I just wanted to watch and have my mind take a permanent picture of what she was doing. She flew right to me and landed on the table 2 inches in front of my knees. She landed and like an old shoe I said “Good” when she landed. “Oh, yea. I’m not supposed to do that anymore.” I thought. Five hours later I left and left behind a rat for her. Each day I left I’d pull the kleenex from my pocket.

After the third day of leaving her rats I noticed something. There was something in the corner behind my chair. It was a rat. It was 2 rats. She wasn’t eating her food! She was taking her rats and putting them behind my chair. She had to be starving. I ran out of the flight cage, jumped in my jeep and probably drove about 40 mph across the field and to the main house. I ran in and grabbed a handful of food from the fridge. I jumped back in my jeep with one hand on the wheel and the right one hovering over the passenger’s seat with tails dangling from my hand. I flew. I thought “She’s been hungry all this time and I thought she was eating her food. You IDIOT!” I ran in and cut up her mice and walked up to her perch. She ran over and ate and ate and ate and I filled her crop so full. I sat the rest of her mice on her stump and went and sat down. I sat and starred at her. I watched her sleep for about an hour. She’s beautiful.

I fed rats and I fed mice and left them on her stump. I’d slowly back off on the amount of mice and remained consistent with the rats. Slowly I watched her starting to eat her rats. I smiled. She was growing and she was growing away from me. I started seeing her turn into an owl.

I’d sit and watch her sleep. I’d sit and watch her play. I stopped talking to her. I started walking in and she started flying away from me. I’d take my computer to my desk and just sit and watch her.

A presentation grew near that I had been preparing for for months. I left. I left her for a long time. Longer than I ever have. I was gone from her for over a week. I came back not knowing what to expect. Yes I did. I knew what she would do and she did.

I whispered her name as I took the key that unlocked her flight cage out of my pocket. I put that key in my pocket on my flight to to my presentation, from my presentation, and during my presentation because behind that key is a big part of my heart. I had my key in my pocket and Sidney on the big screen as part of my presentation. I was so happy. I had her with me in more ways than one when I stood and spoke at the podium.

Sidney in flight

Anyway, I came home and couldn’t wait to get out there. I walked to her cage and unlocked it. I whispered her name and did

my call to her that I knew she knew. I opened the door and she did exactly what I expected. She flew from me in fear. I stood there in this gargantuous flight and walked toward her. She flew in fear again. I took two more steps she flew so close to the top of my head from 100 feet away. I (photo I Sid in flight) just stood and sucked in the sight. I saw the stripes under the wings. I saw the beautiful chest. I saw the legs somewhat tucked. I saw those big furry talons that I loved so much. I saw an owl. I saw Sidney in those eyes and I knew she saw me but she starred straight ahead as she tucked lower and lower just clearing my head. She got right in front of me and I stood still and closed my eyes. I heard nothing. Owls don’t make noise when they fly. I felt my hair swoosh from behind as being sucked through a vacuum as she flew above just clearing my head. I spun around on my heals and watched her glide and maneuver those wings into a well practiced landing. It was the most awesome sight. I cherish the feeling of hearing nothing but feeling absolutely everything.

I began releasing live prey on a consistent basis. I watched her first hunt. She was hungry, she deserved it. I saw an owl. I took in more prey. I saw more

Sidney staring at freedom

of an owl. Each day I walked in, I she grew further and further from me. I sat and watched her stare up at the top where she could see the birds fly by and hear and see the wind blowing through the tree tops. It was almost as if they were calling for her. I looked at her and I saw an owl. She’s a hunting pro. She’s a beautiful hunter. She’s majestic. She’s Sidney and tomorrow night she will be free.

Update: The director, staff, and myself arranged for Sidney’s release a few months ago after watching the numerous videos I had taken of her flight and hunting skills. She was banded the next morning. I picked her up that evening and drove her 50 miles away back to the woods in which she was found. The most fantastic staff at the rehabilitation center arranged for me to do my first release with the most precious owl. I had visions in my mind of Sidney and I spending the next 15-20 years traveling, training, and educating on conservation of the most lovely Great Horned Owls. I am sad to see that vision turn into a dream. I’m so excited for her change in plans.

The evening of her release I received so many e-mails and even a few text messages of photos of their Starbucks coffee raised to the twilighted sky in honor of Sidney, her memories, her education, and her future. I sit here thinking back about this as I sit in my dining room near her favorite perch. Each day I still carry her key in my left pants pocket. To me it is a constant reminder of not only her, but the things she taught me to appreciate, and to keep it all real. Training these birds is not a job, it is a true honor to be allowed so close to their lives and I now have so much more appreciation for the evening skies.

I have since been in touch with Jeff numerous times. He tells me he has seen a large bird flying near the woods in the early evenings and he hears the hoots of a Great Horned Owl. She’s showed me her world and I thank her. Thank you to those who have followed her story. She is simply awesome. She’s an owl.

Added note: Having possession of an owl or any other bird of prey requires a permit or license and is otherwise against the law. Living with or taking care of a bird of prey requires a lot of dedicated time and commitment. It is by no means easy and is often restrictive of a life style. This story was written and shared with you in appreciation of our natural wildlife, their habitats, and conservation. I hope you enjoyed reading this story. I truly enjoy sharing it.

This summer I was sitting on a tractor in the middle of a field when I got a call from one of King City’s local vets (also of WildCare fame), she had sponsored a Snowy Owl in my father’s memory. As a result, the Owl Foundation in Vineland, Ontario invited us for a tour. As all of the owls are kept in aviaries with either plexiglass or mesh windows, most of the photos turned out like crap. These are the ones that weren’t so bad. Oh… and if some of their eyes look weird, it’s not redeye… it’s an injury… it is a wildlife rehabilitation centre after all. It’s not like I had a National Geographic grant… hint hint.

Reprinted from Stanford Magazine, January/February 2007, with updated statistics

Text by Melissa Hart.  Photo by Jonathan B. Smith.

Louise Shimmel falls asleep to the hooting of northern spotted owls outside her window, and steps out into the chilly Eugene, Ore., morning to hand-feed injured red-tailed hawks and orphaned barn owls. Twenty-one years ago she founded Cascades Raptor Center, a tiny nonprofit nature center and wildlife hospital specializing in birds of prey. CRC now boasts three forested acres with a medical clinic, a visitor’s center, and spacious enclosures that are home to birds such as bald eagles, peregrine falcons and the rare northern goshawk.

Although Shimmel, three other paid staff and more than 100 volunteers attempt to rehabilitate and release every bird brought to them, many of the birds have sustained irreparable injuries. In such cases, CRC may choose to adopt them as permanent residents. With over 30 species on display, the center welcomes the public six days a week. For many children and adults, a visit marks the first time they’ve been face-to-face with a raptor or considered its vital role in the environment.

“The teachable moment lies in watching a vulture spread its wings in the sun or seeing a hawk fly to the glove,” Shimmel says. “How can we ask people to care about habitat preservation if they’ve never seen what lives there?”

As a child, she loved fairy tales in which good and evil were clearly delineated, and the hero triumphed. “Helping to redress the imbalance at the human/wildlife interface, where the animals almost always lose, gives me satisfaction,” she says. “Even when we fail to save the bird, there is a positive interaction with the finder, whose caring is affirmed by our efforts.”

Shimmel came of age in the 1960s, heeding John F. Kennedy’s appeals to public service. A speech and drama major at Stanford, she gravitated to the theater’s sense of community. “That feeling of ensemble was so rewarding,” she says. “I’ve sought or tried to recreate this almost everywhere I’ve gone.” Her training is put to use in presentations about natural history and raptor conservation. “I love speaking to a range of people, being able to talk at different levels about the birds and reach different ages.”

Shimmel works to raise money toward a larger facility that will enhance the center as an educational resource and become a tourist destination. She pauses on her way to re-bandage a hawk’s broken wing, while a resident kestrel chirps from his perch. “I want to leave CRC to the community as my legacy,” she says, “as a place to share my appreciation and respect for the intricacies of nature.”’

Hi Folks,

All the raccoons and humans survived the July 4th festivities very nicely.  My 8 growing babies all got chicken bones from a barbecue at my friend Todd’s house, so it was a big night for them.  Nobody set our woods on fire with fireworks, nor was there more than one very loud bang to frighten the raccoons.  They’re a pretty confident crew anyway.

The 8, from 4 different litters, range in age from 9 weeks to 11 weeks.  All are beautifully healthy, as are Jack and Amy’s big six.  The Sweeties, as the Six are known at their house, will be ready for release in another month, and we are seeking an excellent site for them, with water, lots of frogs, crayfish, oak and bay trees, huckleberry, blackberry, nut trees and if we are really lucky we’ll find some old wild apple trees to help them through the fall.  Releasing in the fall here in Northern California is a good deal for the raccoons, since the weather is still warm, and many of our fruits and nuts bear into December and even January.  And of course there are insects year round, so there is always something for raccoons to eat.  We will provide transition food for the raccoons, since they would normally be with their mothers through this winter, we do what we can to help them along.

Here are a few photos of the 8 smaller raccoons’ pen….it’s got jungle gyms made of tree branches, swings, a swimming pool, a slide…..as well as pine cones, shells, rocks and other fun toys to play with.  They’ll never have it this easy again!  All the young raccoons get live crickets and crayfish to help them learn that dinner runs away, and sometimes dinner even fights back!

“Real” scientists frown on empathy in research, but it could be useful for wildlife rehabilitation.

When you know the science of the creature–what it eats, where it lives, how it behaves–putting yourself in its place could allow you to make good decisions on the animal’s behalf. Imagining how the animal feels is not at all silly if you are always aware that this wild creature is not a pet.

Saturday we released a juvenile penguin that had a bad fledging experience. Usually Rosalie releases penguins within earshot of the ocean. The bird isn’t fed in the morning and hunger overtakes confusion; in short order the penguin returns to sea to catch a meal.

Wrong way Henry...

But Henry was injured soon after his first trip to sea, so he didn’t fledge properly. When Rosalie released him he wouldn’t go back in the water. A few days later she found him starving, so she brought him back to the hospital to fatten him up. After a week he was ready to be released again.

We carried Henry all the way down to the water. As soon as he saw the ocean he turned to run away from it, but we blocked his path. Penguins are shy creatures and his fear of humans helped him overcome his fear of going back to sea. Once he entered the water, instinct took over and in a split second he was past the kelp and the waves.

Listen to this podcast about Martha, another penguin with a personality.

Oh, that Cooper’s Hawk.  He impressed me today.

Cooper's Hawk, Accipiter cooperii

I last rehabbed him on Thursday of last week since I was unable to make it to the raptor center on Monday (my usual rehab day).  On Thursday, I saw a marked improvement from the last time I had worked with this bird (which was 10 days prior, I believe), and today I saw even more.  On Thursday, he was making his perch-to-perches (P-Ps) just fine as long as he kept himself aloft.  Once he overshot his perch and landed on the ground, however, it didn’t seem like he was able to regain the height he had after I launched him and he stayed on the perches.  Since I have not seen him gain height by himself yet, I figured that capability would come later, once his injured wing had a chance to become more flexible and strong.

Inside the flight cage.

Today he surprised me.  A half an hour or so into our rehab session, he began taking off from the ground and making his perch at the other end of the flight cage.  I got very excited, as I haven’t seen him demonstrate this ability so far.  I have hope for this bird.  I think he is going to wow us all with his continued progress.  He’s gained some weight during his time in the flight cage – he has gone from 10.5 oz upon arrival to 12 oz today, which means he is not a large bird.  In fact, here is a photo to illustrate just how not big he is, compared to other birds I’ve worked with in the past:

Cooper's hawk compared to my hand (which is markedly larger due to the gloves).

On a completely unrelated note, I wore my Vibram Five Fingers shoes to rehab today, and they are spectacular.  They are the next best thing to being barefoot, and my feet have been thanking me for wearing them.  I wore them while gardening on Saturday and my feet weren’t nearly as sore as I expected them to be. 

My fivegingers.

I started wondering recently about birds’ intelligence levels and the way they use their brains.  Of course, we all know that parrots and crows are extremely intelligent.  But what about other birds  - various species of hawks and other raptors (like owls) and song birds?  Does the derogatory phrase “bird brain” really MEAN something?  I am going to have to do some more research on this.  There are few websites out there that look reputable so I’m going to try to find some books on the subject.  I probably have one, but don’t realize it because I buy so darn many books, thanks to the used bookstore at the Iowa City Public Library.

In regards to the intelligence of Cooper’s Hawks in particular, I was unable to find any useful information in a simple Google search.  I did, however, notice several entries that used such words as “clever,” “sneaky,” and one blog that I found had this to say:

I am not sure if there have been formal studies on the intelligence of the Cooper’s Hawk, but my own observations support the theory that this species has above average I.Q. There is no question in my mind that the Cooper’s Hawk “hides” behind things – trees for sure but also man-made structures like garages and rooftops prior to launching into its attack flight. 

If anybody has thoughts on the topic of bird intelligence, particularly relating to raptors or songbirds, please feel free to chime in!

On certain rare and startling occasions, a person finds that her character is unexpectedly put to the test.  I term these unexpected crises “definitive experiences”.  In the midst of shock and chaos, a person comes to discover certain truths about herself, her values, and her gut instincts.  I believe that the “definitive experience”, as I define it, provides valuable insight into one’s character specifically because it is so sudden and startling that one’s reaction to it is purely instinctual.  Ethical concerns and the effects of one’s choices cannot be thoroughly weighed in such situations.  Thus, the crisis reaction exposes much about a person’s character and true nature which cannot be revealed in the day-to-day, premeditated decisions and choices that one makes. 

I’ve often pondered the lack of definitive experiences in my recent life.  For instance, while watching the first seasons of Lost, I found myself wondering whether I would behave more like the heroic Jack or the opportunistic Sawyer in a plane wreck situation.  I routinely ponder these thoughts anytime I’m viewing or reading about extreme experiences of any sort.  Like most people living in today’s cushy world, I don’t often have the opportunity to truly test my mettle, and to come to terms with my own strength of character, or lack thereof. 

These insights developed after a startling experience I had last weekend.  No, I did not suddenly find myself stranded on a deserted island, faced with the dilemma of rescuing injured survivors or hoarding their luggage.  My experience was far less dramatic than this, and yet it still revealed many valuable insights.

Memorial Day weekend found me camping on private land with my family and boyfriend.  We were in the process of setting up camp in the woods when I discovered a baby raccoon lying in the leaf litter a short distance from our pile of firewood.  Approaching the animal, I discovered that it was moving slowly and jerkily across the forest floor.  It appeared to be very weak and possibly injured, and its small body was covered with buzzing flies.  Its fur was thickly caked with fly eggs.  (I do apologize for the graphic nature of this description, but in exploring the event as a true definitive experience, it’s necessary that one understands how unpleasant a picture this truly was.  The story will continue along these lines, so it’s suggested that the squeamish stop reading now, before your stomachs are upset.)

My immediate reaction was to approach the baby raccoon, to attempt to help it.  This did not surprise me, for it seems I often encounter injured animals and move to rescue them.  My family members, however, acted as very vocal naysayers for the most part.  Only my brother understood my desire to help the animal.  I was urged to leave it alone, as it writhed about just feet from the site of our bonfire.  I was also repeatedly told that it would bite me.  I somehow knew that it would not, or could not.  It was too small, too weak, and too young.  Easily, I scooped it up with a towel and rushed off with it, to the protests of the majority of my family members and the horror of my boyfriend.

I suppose it should be said that parasites of any kind disgust me.  I am greatly disturbed by their very existence, and possess a somewhat irrational fear of them.  The sight of so many fly eggs encrusting the body of this tiny raccoon was therefore a horrific sight for me.  Nonetheless, without even bothering to set up camp, I headed back through the woods to the house.  I then began the process of attempting to rid the baby raccoon of her infestation.  Encouraged by her churring vocalizations, I kept working, with whatever materials I could find.  Repeatedly, family members approached me and urged me to stop what I was doing and come back to the party.  On several occasions, I was advised to abandon or euthanize the animal.  Looking at the baby raccoon wrapped in a blanket before me, euthanasia simply was not an option.  Fly eggs had filled one of her eye sockets, and both of her ears.  Quite possibly, I was fighting a losing battle.  Yet it seemed somehow ignoble just to give up because the animal’s suffering presented me with an inconvenience.  In fact, I was surprised that the others around me didn’t share my interest in attempting a rescue.  Doggedly, I continued trying to remove the parasites, focusing for a time on her affected eye.  I was surprised to discover a berry- black, healthy little eye beneath its layer of fly eggs, and I felt encouraged by her churring vocalizations and the sight of her bright gaze upon me.  It seemed to me that my focus somehow intensified and deepened, to the point where I was concerned only with the well- being of the animal.  All other concerns, even for the social enjoyment of the holiday, faded away.  Looking back, this surprises me.  I would not have expected that I could become so single- mindedly intense.

It was then that I discovered an awful fact: some of the maggots had hatched and were moving.  Wriggling horrifically in the baby raccoon’s ear canal were live maggots, as thin as threads.  Using tweezers and Q tips, I struggled in vain to remove them from the cavity.  Finally, I realized that I could not succeed.  I couldn’t get at some of the maggots, and they were pushing deeper into her ear canal.  Swallowing my pride, I realized I had to admit defeat.  I accessed the computer in the next room, and found a listing of wildlife rehabilitators in the area.  After speaking with a few of them, I found one who was willing to take in the baby raccoon.  She lived 45 minutes away.

My boyfriend drove my car, as I held the baby raccoon in its cage during the long drive.  As we reached her house, the wildlife rehabilitator headed toward us and took the animal in her arms.  Bringing her into her dining room, she immediately began working on her infestation.  I was very surprised to discover that the baby raccoon had no wounds of any kind.  The fly eggs were merely caked upon her fur, where they resembled a thick layer of sawdust.  Deftly, the rehabilitator stripped the eggs away with a fine toothed comb dipped in Murphy’s oil soap.  She used a saline solution in the raccoon’s ears, explaining that it caused the maggots to retreat out the ear cavity, where they could be collected with tweezers.  She placed the small animal on a heating pad and worked diligently, with a focus that rivaled my own, and a skill which clearly surpassed my clumsy, bungling efforts.  Here was a true master at work, and I observed her with rapt attention.  What a useful skill she had, the ability to save lives, and what an entirely selfless cause she had devoted herself to!  I admired this woman, and her devotion to the rescue and care of wild animals.  I wondered how I could learn to be more like her.  I watched as she administered antibiotics and a bit of Nutri Cal to her new patient.  Once she was certain that the maggots had been evicted from the baby animal’s body, she told me she would begin tube feeding her.  The little raccoon had clearly been abandoned for some time.  She was thin and weak, and her eyes, though bright, were sunken due to lack of nourishment.  The good thing was that she’d likely had all the fly eggs removed just as they’d begun to hatch.  Once they’re laid, the wildlife rehabilitator told me, they hatch within a matter of hours.

Returning to our campsite that evening, I felt pretty pleased with what we had done.  With luck, the baby raccoon would survive the experience, and I would have helped in saving her life, though I was now only responsible for a small part of the rescue effort.  I was relieved to have acknowledged that the situation was beyond the reach of my amateur abilities.  I hadn’t persisted in my own efforts out of pride, as I had done in the past.  After observing a true master at work, I was grateful for my humility.

Putting the experience behind us, we very thoroughly washed our hands and arms, and quickly prepared a dinner of veggie dogs with hummus and some fruit salad.  Afterwards, we enjoyed a family drum circle, like the woodland hippies we are.  Off in the distance all the while, I could hear a strong, monkey-like cry, which was very reminiscent of the cry that the baby raccoon had made when I wiped her head with a damp washcloth.  I realized there was another baby raccoon in the woods, not far from us.  I found myself wondering if it was tucked safely inside its nest, and if so, why was it wailing all through the night?

At around 1 am, I decided to return to my tent for a stick of the large outdoor incense I’d been burning.  With the incense in hand, I paused at the door to my tent, aware that the shrill, monkey- like shrieking seemed to be coming from very close by.  What if there was another baby raccoon out there dying, its body being consumed alive by maggots?  I had to make sure that this was not the case, because the alternative would fill me with horror and guilt in the morning.  After all, I reminded myself, fly eggs hatch in a matter of hours.  With my flashlight in hand, I turned and headed into the woods, following the sound of the shrieking animal.

It wasn’t long before I found it, another baby raccoon, in a similar condition to the first.  I wrapped it in a nylon bag and rushed back to the house.  I saw that the fly eggs were beginning to hatch on this unfortunate orphan.  However, it appeared as though his infestation was less severe.  Nonetheless, it would take a lot of work. 

I began the endeavor feeling fully energized and confident of my abilities.  I could do it, I thought eagerly.  I’d just seen how it was done!  Now, all I need are supplies, I thought, my mind racing.  I rushed around the house in search of substitutes for fine toothed combs, Murphy’s oil soap, saline solution, and heating pads.  Assembling these items around my new charge, I threw myself into the rescue effort.  However, it wasn’t long before I grew frustrated.  My makeshift supplies simply weren’t working as well as the rehabilitator’s.  Maggots were everywhere.  I found myself washing my hands constantly out of fear and revulsion.  What if they ate into this baby raccoon’s ears, I thought frantically?  They hatch in a matter of hours.  They hatch in a matter of hours!  As I struggled to control the infestation, the wildlife rehabilitator’s words echoed in my mind like a taunting refrain.  How many hours had it been since I discovered the first raccoon?  How many hours had this one lain like that, unattended, uncared for?  How many hours?  It was all a matter of hours.  The hours were all that mattered.  How many hours?  How many?

As anxiety overwhelmed me, I turned to my boyfriend, who was still standing firmly by my side, through all of my animal- rescue mania.  It was then that his own strength in the face of crisis became finally apparent to me.  No, he wasn’t the action man, leaping into the fray with tweezers and syringes of saline on the ready.  In truth, there didn’t need to be two of us frantically attending the baby raccoon.  His role in this crisis was to provide calm and patient support through my frenzy of activity.  Like yin and yang, our dynamic balanced itself.

Yet the baby raccoon’s condition was not abating.  My tools were simply not as effective as the rehabilitator’s had been, and we were a long way from the nearest 24 hour superstore… nearly as far as we were from the rehabilitator herself.  Hesitantly, I picked up the phone.  It was after 1 am… Slowly, I dialed her number. 

Much to my surprise, she was still awake and working on the first raccoon.  She invited me back over, and so my boyfriend and I hopped back in the car with our second orphaned baby and sped down the roads as quickly as we could.

Down one rural stretch of road, we came upon a large adult raccoon standing in the center of our lane.  In my exhausted state, I hit the accelerator instead of the brake, and we found ourselves racing toward the animal before I’d realized what happened.  We jolted forward, and then I slammed on the brake.  We lurched to a stop.  The raccoon simply stood there, entranced by our headlights, and regarded us for a long moment before slowly moving off.  The whole encounter felt very strange, like an omen of sorts.  I found myself wondering if I had passed the test Raccoon had set for me. 

Reaching the rehabilitator’s yet again, we watched as she tirelessly began a similar procedure for our second baby raccoon.  She seemed to feel that this one would fare better than the first, because he was larger and stronger.  We left that night feeling utterly exhausted and confused by the events of the long day, and the longer night, as well as greatly in need of a very long shower.

All through the following week, I found that I couldn’t shake the experience from my mind.  Did it have some sort of meaning, I found myself wondering?  Or was I merely being superstitious?  If I was living in a shamanic culture today, I would likely now believe that I possessed Raccoon Medicine.  I would feel that Raccoon had sought me out to offer its guidance after posing its series of tests.  Could that be the case even in today’s modern world? 

Ignoring for the moment the possible esoteric shades of the experience, and assuming that nothing has meaning at all unless we grant it, what deeper significance could I impart to this course of events?  Clearly, it taught me much about myself, my gut instincts, and my attitude in a crisis.  I also learned much about my relationship with my boyfriend through the ordeal we shared.  Furthermore, I learned that a person with natural inclinations such as mine ought to develop some degree of veterinary skill so as to avoid anxiety and the panic of inexperience.  I now feel proud of my actions, and the feelings behind them, but I can’t deny that I lack skill.  I therefore found myself inquiring about wildlife rehabilitation classes and volunteer work with our local park system.  In the interest of someday becoming exactly who I want to be, I think this would be an excellent idea. 

I feel that “definitive experiences” such as these can show us who we want to be, and what truly matters to each of us.  Without such shocking stimuli to spur us into action, many of us drift through life apathetically, never discovering a cause to devote ourselves to.  With last weekend’s events behind me, I find that my former apathy has dissolved, to be replaced by a new sense of ambition to become my ideal self.  This ideal self is someone strong and compassionate, someone whose determination and resolve truly matter, at least in the eyes of two baby raccoons.

Soahki  is a contributing writer for projectgroupthink.wordpress.com. Get instant updates for this blog via Twitter: PGTblog.

He was found lying in the middle of the road, his body cold and filled with maggots. But he was still alive and someone had cared enough to pick him up and bring him to Cynthia for help. She stayed up most of the night, pulling maggots out of just about every orifice. She gave him nourishment and he came back to life. Buddy was not just another gray squirrel, not to the person who cared enough to pick him up off the road, not to Cynthia, and certainly not to me.

I was volunteering for Cynthia that summer. I went to her place almost every evening to clean cages, change water bowls, feed whomever it was time to feed. There were orphaned fawns, one who had been badly injured by a hay mower, and a variety of birds and smaller mammals, including Flower the baby skunk, all in need of a helping hand.  Feeding the fawns was a lot of fun, but that’s another story.

Cynthia was a licensed wildlife rehabilitator who lived out in the country, and I loved going there because I loved animals and loved helping them. The work gave me a sense of purpose outside of myself.

Enter Buddy. Normally she would raise him with other orphaned squirrels so they wouldn’t become imprinted upon people and instead form their own bonds, but there were no other orphaned baby squirrels at the time, not even with other rehabilitators in the area. Once he was stable and up on his feet she entrusted me with his care until he became a grown-up squirrel.

I got to take him home in his cage and nurture him the best I could until he was old enough to be released out in the world. I tried to be aloof in my love when I fed him, gave him fresh water, and cleaned his cage, to do what I could to not encourage the imprinting on humans. Even still, he never failed to climb up onto my arm while I was working in the cage. I tried shaking my arm to discourage him, but he held on and stayed put so I let it be.  I suppose it was something different and maybe he thought of it as a moving branch. My wishful thinking. Of course in retrospect, there was always more I could have done to create more distance between us. But being the only animal in my mother’s garage, I imagine he must have benefitted from my company and the love I gave him rather than growing up in a purely sterile environment for all that time.

Photos used are actual photos of Buddy.

He grew fast, and soon it was time to let him go. I brought him back to Cynthia and she took him to the home of a woman she knew who also lived out in the country. They arranged for his release in the woman’s backyard, and when he scampered out of his cage, do you know what he did? He made a beeline for that woman and ran straight up her leg! I wish I could have been there to see it, although at the time I heard about it I hung my head because I thought for sure it was because I hadn’t cared for him well enough in the right way.  Well, things mellowed out after that and he evolved into being a gray squirrel who fended for himself, with a little help from her bird feeder from time to time. So next time you see a gray squirrel, know that they’re not just another gray squirrel. They have their own story too.

For more information about wildlife rehabilitation or to locate a wildlife rehabilitator in your area, please visit the National Wildlife Rehabilitators Association at www.nwrawildlife.org and the International Wildlife Rehabilitation Council at www.iwrc-online.org .

by Carl Strang

Today I want to share a couple photos from my years at the Willowbrook Wildlife Center, the forest preserve facility in Glen Ellyn. Willowbrook has one of the nation’s top wildlife veterinary clinics. One day a particularly talented cottontail escaped its transport cage in the exam clinic. Where did it go?

If you study this photo carefully you will find the rabbit. I want to emphasize that this was entirely the work of the cottontail itself. This is not a posed photo. But it emphasizes the unusual resources wild animals have that we do not see in their every day behavior. By now you no doubt have discovered that the rabbit had managed to jump up to the top of the clinic’s highest cabinet.

The latches on all of Willowbrook’s cages are good, but on rare occasions they are defeated by talented critters. I remember one occasion when a Houdini-esque coyote disappeared from a closed room where it had been left in a latched cage. It turned up in another closed room three doors down the hall. It somehow had undone the latch, jumped onto the top of its cage, climbed up pushing its way through the suspended ceiling tile (which fell back perfectly in place after the animal’s exit, if I remember correctly), then the coyote tightroped the beams until it made the mistake of putting its weight on a tile above the custodial room halfway down the length of the building and fell into the closed room along with pieces of the tile. Remarkably the coyote was not hurt by this escapade, and was kept in high security until it had fully recovered and could be released.

Texas Wildlife Rehabilitation Coalition is an urban wildlife emergency and rehabilitative care facility serving the Greater Houston area. Established in 1979, TWRC focuses on conservation, public education, and wildlife rehabilitation, and is operated by part-time staff and volunteers who are permitted rehabilitators and animal lovers. TWRC is a 501(c)(3) non-profit organization which receives no federal or state funding. We rely on individual, corporate, and foundation contributions to continue our efforts in preserving and caring for Texas wildlife.

Visit them at www.twrc-houston.org

Snow Delivers Emergency Formula to 7 Hungry Coyote Pups

Yesterday Auntie Lane took us out to Walden’s Puddle to make an emergency delivery of baby formula for some motherless coyote puppies. Besides these distant cousins of Miss Snow, we met owls, hawks, songbirds, raccoons, turtles, and lots and lots of squirrels that the saints at Walden’s Puddle are nursing back to health for release into the wild again. Auntie Lane has been supporting the good work of Walden’s Puddle in so many ways and for many years and she wants us to get involved too – we are ready to help and hope you will too!

For all you urban treehuggers looking for a way to make a difference, Wildcare is asking people to help them raise money for a Dallas wildlife rehabilitation center by hosting baby showers for our animal friends.  Wildcare provides the games, programs and party favors — you provide the location, food and guests.

I attended a shower recently at my friend Lori’s house, and I learned all kinds of fun facts about animals in our area.  For example, when armadillos give birth, they always have identical quintuplets — four boys or four girls.  And baby rabbits nurse while lying on their backs with their mother standing above them.  I also learned that a group of squirrels is called a dray or a scurry; and a family of ducks is called a brace or a raft.  The most important thing I learned, though, is that Dallas is one of the only major metropolitan areas in the U.S. without a wildlife rehabilitation center.

Wildcare is working to change this and plans to open a new rehab center here next year.  A non-profit organization, Wildcare is made up of volunteers who foster ill, injured or orphaned native wildlife until the animals can be returned to their home environment.  It’s a hardworking group, but they run their operation out of their homes and need a central location with a triage center where veterinarians quickly can examine animals, provide them with proper care or humanely euthanize them if necessary.  It would also be a place where all of us could take the injured birds and squirrels we find in our backyards and ensure they have a chance at recovery.

I’m not a wildlife activist and usually prefer to give my dollars to causes that help people, but this project struck a chord with me.  As I’ve written in past blog posts, I live in the city of Dallas, and as much as I enjoy my urban surroundings, I am delighted that I share them with a range of wild animals:  squirrels, foxes, coyotes, rabbits, ducks, owls and doves.  In fact, I’m amazed at nature’s ability to thrive in our city and how easily man and beast can live side-by-side.  I want wildlife in my neighborhood, and I see the rehab center not only as a way to provide animals with immediate care, but also as a path to greater awareness of and appreciation for Dallas area wildlife.

Fortunately, Houston has a successful wildlife rehabilitation and triage center, and the Dallas facility will be based on that model.  To find out more about the new center and how you can help, have a look Wildcare’s video which is filled with tiny baby animals that will make you go “ah.”  If you’d like to host a wild animal baby shower — or volunteer in other ways — please call Wildcare at 817-237-8500.

Anne

In Medford, rehabilitates orphaned and injured wildlife for release, provides environmental education, tours, and lectures on native habitats, plants, and animals. Volunteers are needed for office work, fundraising, wildlife rehabilitation, and tours. Opportunities are available for volunteers 16+. Call 856-983-3329 ext. 100 info@cedarrun.org.– www.cedarrun.org

You never know whan an animal may show up needing help.

POTTSTOWN PA – Discover what to do, and what not to do, when you come across a wild animal that seems to need human help.  A free program that covers how and when to handle an animal born and raised in the wild, without endangering yourself, will be held Jan. 17 (2009; Saturday) at 2 p.m. in Warwick County Park, 382 County Park Rd., Pottstown PA.

• This event has been added to The Post’s January calendar.

Instructors Jay Erb of the Chester County Parks and Recreation Department staff, and Deb Welter of the Diamond Rock Wildlife Rehabilitation Center in Malvern, will lead the program. They’ll also discuss which local organizations you can and should turn to for help in wildlife rehabilitation.

Warwick County Park, part of the Chester County PA park system, is located 3-1/2 miles west of the intersection of Routes 100 and 23 in the village of Knauertown, Warwick Township, in northern Chester County.  Detailed directions are available online.

Pre-registration is required. Register for the program by downloading a registration form or by calling the park at 610-469-1916.

Photo by Mike Bolling

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The video of the Kestrel feeding ceremony included in a previous post provoked criticism from master falconers. Apparently, the consensus is that the “dancing” as seen in that video is more like the dancing at a club in Cancún or any Spring Break destination: a blatant copulation attempt. And this, they claim, is evidence of malimprinting.

In order to assuage concerns about survival of that Kestrel, I asked one of the volunteers (she is the one who can be heard offering forewarnings and directives in the video) of his status. As it turns out, Kip had refused to be hacked off and returned to the facility, but most of the others of his mews moved on.

The master falconers were mostly disapproving of the direct contact made with the raptors, and I think that there is merit in their criticisms. There are more optimal hacking protocols for raptor reintroduction, and maybe wildlife care centers could benefit from collaboration with falconers. However, I had the impression that the criticism from members of the falconry community was systematic in that they (independently) expressed disapproval of wildlife rehabilitators and their education programs, in general. For the record, Louise Shimmel, founder of Cascades Raptor Center, in her chapter written for Hand-Rearing Birds, recommends the use of “feeding puppets, ghost costumes, [and] feeding through a chute or slot” for feeding and handling of raptors if re-nesting and fostering by a conspecific adult is not possible. So there is at least one raptor rehabilitator, a former president of International Wildlife Rehabilitation Council (IWRC), who likely meets the falconers’ standards for handling.

Kip’s behavior and my reception should not be advertised as conventional protocol for Kestrel-rehabiliator interaction, but it does not occur often there. Rogers Wildlife accommodates thousands of birds in a year, and they are proud to publish their release rates. Besides, considering all that the volunteers of Rogers Wildlife do, I would not condemn them for an occasional imprinted Kestrel whose quality of life is quite good.

This particular owl has been in the flight cage for a few weeks now, and is currently on a regimen of 10 wing stretches for his injury and five perch-to-perch flights. Since I hadn’t caught a wild, angry bird for a while, I had Mary go first and bring him out into the area where we do the flying. He wasn’t happy but we got him weighed and Mary began doing the wing stretches. She handed the owl over to me after she did a few and I took over. While I was holding him to my chest, Mary reminded me that owls have long necks and he could easily extend his to reach my face…which normally wouldn’t be a problem but this particular owl was a biter. I was wearing eye protection but I also didn’t want a chunk of flesh taken out of my cheek so I lowered him a bit and continued doing wing stretches. Every once in a while he would turn his head 90 degrees and try to bite my sweatshirt. Thankfully I was layered up since, well, it’s winter, so I didn’t feel anything.

After the wing stretches, we began the perch-to-perch flying and the owl did really well. He was a bit hard to catch when I had to launch him from my hands but once his wings were folded into his body and his back was against my torso, he was relatively well-behaved and he couldn’t get away. We did about 5 P-to-P flights but the owl was getting tired and a (little pissed) so we quit. The whole process took a little less than an hour. After that, I fed the resident owls since the regular Saturday feeder was out of town for the hoilday.

I realized while watching this owl fly that I’ve only really studied the way injured birds fly up close. Sure, we have all seen birds flying around in the skies but most of the time they are either too high or too fast for us to really observe them. The GHOW in the flight cage, for instance, pulls to the right when he flies due to the injury to his left wing. Obviously I know that his body is supposed to be symmetrical when he flies, but if there are other, smaller nuances I need to watch for I’m a little clueless. For instance, he had a few small sores on the bottom of one of his feet and I doubt I would have noticed something like that had I been rehabbing alone. I will learn to look for things like that but at this point I was glad to have someone there with me to point out the little things like that.

I’m not sure when I will get to work with him again. I told Mary I could come out over the weekend again to give it another go so we’ll see. He looks like he’s going to need to build more strength before he’s released, so I’m sure there will be opportunities.

I’m very glad to have rehabbed this weekend. It had been way too long and I just love the way it feels to hold a wild bird so close that I can see its feathers individually and even smell its breath (which isn’t pleasant, let me tell you). Letting my spirit mingle with that of a wild animal up close is a feeling I can’t get enough of.