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