Spick and Speck

As I'm driving home from work, the call centre requests I pick up an unknown fledging around the corner from my place.  On arrival I find not one but 2 squawking chicks, noisy lil buggers they are too.  Thanks to the joys of technology - by taking pics and sending via phone, I learn:
       1.       They are satin bowerbird chicks  - in need of hourly feeding
       2.       They eat fruit and insects
       3.       It is my responsibility to locate a carer - as I am not able to take the wee darlings into the
               office for hourly feeding
       4.       They are likely to be dehydrated and starving and I should do something about that pronto!

 Fortunately I have some Insecatvore powder that I mix with water then feed via syringe.  Lordy - they practically deep throat the entire syringe -  like I am squirting the stuff straight into their stomachs!  Many phone calls later, I find Lorraine, who is prepared to become their carer. So bundling the cage into the car - we meet at a mutually convenient spot. Feels somewhat clandestine to meet a stranger in the dark, on the side of the road, and pass over precious cargo.

The following weekend, I call to see how they are doing, and Lorraine asks if I would consider sharing care - she does the week days, I do the weekends. Yippee! I get to be a carer!  So for a few weeks they are dropped to me on a Thursday night, and returned on a Sunday.  On Friday's when I am working from home, I manage to shovel food down their beaks in between teleconference meetings.  We stretch the feeds out gradually - building up an  extra hour each week, so eventually they will only require feeding morning and night.

Ellie, my border collie, takes her guarding duties very seriously - ensuring no curious cats get too close when the chicks, now named Spick and Speck, are enjoying the sunshine - gathering much needed vitamin D.

 Spick (at the front of the cage in the picture above) has a much healthier appetite and is far more outgoing and adventurous than his/her sibling.  It show too, as s/he weighs in 50% heavier than Speck.  Spick is happy to flutter to my arm or shoulder and squawk  demandingly - seems to have a tremendous appetite for such a small being.

When Speck sadly dies (reason unknown, it just happens in birds sometimes...apparently - the loss still saddens me), Spick is ready for a larger aviary to in which to learn to fly.  A new aviary owning carer is found in the volunteer network, and off Spick goes.  Latest news is that Spick loves to fly and stretch his wings and he will be ready for release in a couple of months.

I am gutted that Speck didn't make it, but take solace in the fact that s/she was well fed and comfortable during the few weeks we shared, and that Spick is launched into life at full flight.

 

First Call Out

The call centre rang me to ask me to rescue a baby bower bird from someone's house.  I call the MOP (Member of Public - me no longer a MOP, I'm a certified Wildlife Rescuer!).  Brian, an elderly chap, advises that there was a baby  bird on the fence and the local, territorial  mynah's attacked it until it fluttered to the ground.  Being a concerned citizen, he'd scooped it up and put it in a cage.  The parent returned to the fence, bug in mouth ready to  feed the babe, and was chased into the wild blue yonder by the afore mentioned mynahs.  Could I please come and get it.  Hmmm, methinks  the best course of action would be to reunite with its parents, rather than remove, so  I call a more knowledgeable rescuer seeking advice. She agrees removal is not the best option, so could I go sit and wait for the parent bird to return.  If not back by dark, call her, we will develop a Plan B.

Great, I got a Plan A.  In the car, hurtling down the road, I realise in my excitement, I'd forgotten my rescue box (sewing basket & towel) - back home - grab the box - empty box of manual, certificate, baby bird food - and off again.  I am a woman on a mission.

Brian turns out to be a lovely chap.  I explained how it was in the best interests of the fledgling to reunite with its mother (scratch that - must look up which parent does the parenting - or whether it's a shared responsibility, I will not perpetuate out-dated sexists attitudes).  Brian is concerned the babe requires immediate sustenance.  I gently (not my usual style at all, but he is old and sweet) repeat the explanation that it is best for the parent to raise the young.  So we chat and wait.  I hear all about his travels by steam ship and various encounters with snakes.   An hour or so later, the parent returns. Brian removes the babe from the cage (he wouldn't let me touch it), it flutters to the fence then down to the ground in the neighbour's yard.  A concerned Brian wishes to retrieve it, and took quite some persuading  to let it be, and allow the parent to fetch its young as s/he was watching from an overhanging branch.  I convince Brian, not to remain at the fence, and rather to sit and tell me another snake story.  He tells of a deadly brown snake that climbed over his uncle's knees to drink from the milk pale - while the uncle was milking the cow.  Sheesh! Half an entertaining hour later, we look over the fence, and they are both gone.  Huzzahh!  My first successful rescue and I didn't even handle the animal.  Really happy no Plan B was required actually, as I'd left my phone on the bench when I collected my rescue box.(Hence no pics, sorry)

In great spirits, returning home to hug my darling Ellie dog (she is always sooo pleased to see me), am perplexed by the sticky stuff and bits of plastic stuck in her luxuriant fur (both dogs went to the parlour yesterday).  Inside, I discover the remnants of the packs of baby bird food all over the carpet.  Expressing  frustration, I shoo her outside.  My other little dog Harry, unusually, doesn't come when I call, and upon investigation I find, he too is covered in plastic and goo.  Obviously a joint effort - Ellie would have jumped up to the table to remove the bags of food (Harry has knee trouble and can't jump anymore) then Harry would have ripped the bags open (Ellie is toothless) for them both to enjoy.

Ellie returns via the doggy door to the lounge, where they proceed to perform a regurgitation duet on the carpet - which by the way - was cleaned just last week.   I start laughing, (somewhat manically - honestly - what else can one do?), named and shamed 'em both on Facebook and set about cleaning it up.

LESSONS LEARNT - TAKE A MOMENT TO PAUSE AND THINK BEFORE ACTING

Wildlife rescuer - the beginner's course

There were about 20 people in the class from all walks of life, from retirees to fresh faced uni students.  It was an interesting day, and I learnt a heap, about birds mainly - apparently for the first 12 months a new rescuer is only allowed to care for birds. Bugger... not excessively fond of feathered friends - cheers Steven King!   Still - 'tis the rite of passage I guess.  I was presented with a manual, a certificate, a small plastic sewing basket, a towel, 3 types of special baby bird food, syringes, plastic gloves  and a huge philosophical conundrum.

National Parks and Wildlife state that it is illegal to have an Australian native animal as a pet, so if the animal become too humanised... euthanise (what about zoos and animal sanctuaries?); if you are unable to return the animal (depending on type) to within 200 metres of where it was found....euthanise (but sometimes members of the public bring in animals they find on the side of the highway and are unsure precisely where); if a bird has a broken wing....euthanise (what about putting it in a splint and allowing it to heal?). 

While I am pro the mercy of euthanasia when options are exhausted, my heart says try everything else first.  Perhaps with education and experience my perspective will change and given I have never actually handled a wild animal, this is the way to garner expertise.

Two weeks after the course, NSW is hit by a fire storm - tragically hundreds of homes were lost, tens of thousands of hectares burnt,  fires were within 7kms of my little country home,  where I spent an entire week stressed out, on high alert.  Fortunately I am luckily enough to work for an organisation that allows telecommuting, so maintained sanity continuing to operate as a corporate professional.  When not on the phone, I was nervously pacing around outside - coughing and spluttering through the smoke, hose in hand - as ash fluttered around me.  

Many animals perished - and undoubtedly many  will require rehabilitation - that's my call to action. Spending 2 full days (yes more than 16 hours) and over 300 cable ties lining my small chicken coop with shade cloth  to safely house some fire injured critter.  I admit placing an urgent call to Dad, regarding the impossibility of working under the inside shelf, when he suggested perhaps I could remove the shelf to enable easier access.  Good thinking 99!

The painful realisation that my handyman skills are nonexistent (ohhh me aching back and blistered fingers), led to outsourcing the cat proofing of my cabana - an area that will comfortably house multiple large cages (who needs an undercover bbq area, when there are lives at steak - opps, I  meant stake). 

 Cat proofing is necessary as I have 3; Tawnie, Totts and Blue.  It's not my fault  I have 3, I used to have a perfectly reasonable 2 when I decided to foster a litter of kittens.  The other adorable fluff balls in the litter found furever homes, but Tawnie would hiss and scratch anyone who came near here - other than me.  To this day I am the only human she likes, and when visitors come, she disappears. 

             

        

Whoops, I digress.... all 3 cats have proven to be vicious, wildlife murdering bastards!  One night, all 3 of them dropped frogs on my face at 3am... I screamed, the frogs screamed, the dogs barked and woke up the whole neighbourhood.   Soooo, I am now locking them inside of a night time, but need to ensure they don't terrorise the shelter inhabitants when I am at work throughout the day.

Posting a shout out on Facebook for donations to help me gear up, and was humbled to receive much from many.

LESSON LEARNT - PURRING PUSSES NEED TO BE KEPT AWAY FROM WILDLIFE

 

Getting Started

I had often thought of becoming a wildlife warrior, after all, I'd had nearly a decade's experience  of fostering and rehabilitating dogs, cats n horses, and love anything with fur.  My property, Harrellie Haven, is named after my two dogs, Harry and Ellie.  Birthday gifts received from like minded friends and family, ensure I have the signs to prove it.

 One Saturday morning during my usual 6km bush walk with the pups,  I'd stopped to breathe and admire the scenery (an ongoing attempt to practise mindfulness and appreciation of the present moment), glanced at my feet, and there, curled in a circle, was a tiny baby possum.   Such a beautiful, perfect creature that never had the opportunity of life.  Awww... Not wanting the lil darling to be squished by dirt bikes or such, I found a nice big leaf to relocate it.  As I scooped... it moved! OMG not dead after all - but no chance of surviving if left here. Cradled gently in a tissue,  the tiny creature got rather active, searching for its mother's teat probably - the walk back to the car seemed much longer than 3kms, as it tickled and wriggled in the warmth of my hands. 

Next, I called the local wildlife sanctuary,  and the person who answered the phone told me they were having a celebration that day and couldn't help.  Incensed - I demanded to know what was worth celebrating more than saving a life...she told me to bring the baby in. Result!  Apparently they have a foster mother possum there who happily will provide nourishment to another young 'un.  Although I called a couple of times, I never found out what became of this little possum.

Anyhoo.... duly inspired,  I made contact with a wildlife rescue group and found they were hosting a beginners course the following weekend, I paid my fee, and went along excited to learn.