Hoots, Howls, and Hollers 01/05/2009

I guess I am not used to the ’09 thing yet. 

Eventually I won’t have to think about it, and ‘09 will roll off the tip of the pen like it had always been ’09, but by then it’ll be ’10! So it goes.

There are some things; however, that I never want to get used to.  Like the daily arrivals of injured animals, brought in due to circumstances most often not of their own doing. 

 

While the arrival itself does become an every day occurrence, the difference is in the details.  The box, container, bag, whatever the conveyance arrives either by the caring public or the dispatched rescue volunteer and believe me behind each of these there is another story.

 

The difference lies in what comes in the next few seconds.  Your senses take over.  Do you first notice a smell before the box is ever opened?  Has the animal inside been burned leaving the overwhelming smell of singed feathers or burned flesh?  Do you hear heavy panting from inside indicating fear, nervousness, or just gasping for a last breath?  Does your gloved hand flinch under the taloned grip of an animal desperate to escape yet another possible assault? Do you gasp at the sight of blood bashed along the inside of the box oozing from the hole blown through the center of the wing?  It tells of a needless bullet ending the flight and possibly the life of the hunting bird?  Or do you feel, hear or smell nothing indicating possibly that we were there too late for this animal?

 

Any of these scenarios could take place daily or even many times a day.  What you hear, smell, feel, and yes, sometimes even taste doesn’t come close to what you can see in the eyes of the wounded and helpless.  There is for sure a sense that fear predominates.  Anger, escape, worry, confusion all are written in the eyes of the trapped and wounded animal.  But, what it seems that you don’t ever see is concession, resignation, acquiescence.  They just don’t seem to give up until there is nothing left in them to fight for survival….but by then the eyes tell you that also.

 

During the convalescence you watch for the spark in the eyes that tell you you’ve made a difference.  You can almost see when the corner is turned.  Fear turns to feisty and feisty turns to fight and fight turns to the search for freedom.

 

There is one last thing we notice also.  It is when they are deemed ready for release.  To the very last the fight is in their eyes.  Most never look back.  They sight the distant goal of freedom, grab a huge bit of air or leap to the bush, and they are gone.  But, there have been those who have circled overhead, looked back under an outstretched wing, and I am just silly enough to believe that the look in their eyes says, “Gracias, amigos and farewell.”  I know, silly, anthropomorphic, Pollyannaish, but nevertheless, I have seen it….I swear!