In a message dated 01/23/2000 6:46:01 PM Pacific Standard Time,
pwebst25 at concentric.net writes:

<< Who pays for the
injured bird? Etc., etc.
>>

No one. Most rehabbers are people with more compassion than money. Most of
their efforts are paid for out of their own pocket. If you are going to take
an animal or a bird to a rehabber or someplace like Olympic Wildlife Rescue
(in McCleary..that's the nearest one to Ocean Shores that I can think of,)
then please, go with the intent of donating enough money to help the bird or
animal.

On the two or three occasions I've taken a wild creature to the vet or the
rescue, the poor thing was more frightened of being in a "predators" hands
than if I'd just left him alone. What I usually try to do is place the bird
in a spot where he's not going to get eaten, where it's hidden and peaceful,
and leave him alone.

I've had to kill an obviously sick bird. It was a AHY female pheasant. She
was stumbling, going in circles, falling over, her head wobbling without any
control, and one foot was dragging and seemingly useless. She'd collapse,
then pick herself up and work her way closer to my home. When one of my local
harriers flew over, she exploded in a fit that looked for all the world like
epilepsy..she was terrified and tried to hide from the harrier (useless as
the grass was so short) and her body kept betraying her. All she could do was
whirl around in confused circles, she couldn't run in a straight line, and
her head acted as if the bones in her neck were completely disconnected. The
harrier made several dives at her, but for whatever reason, she turned away
and flew off.

I confess folks...I shot her. I didn't know if she had a dreadful disease
that would be transmitted to my feeder birds..or to me or my other animals!

When I went out to pick her up...she was skin and bones. Her vent was a mess,
she had not an ounce of meat on her body. I could feel her keel as easily as
I feel these keyboard keys. I could even feel her pelvis. Her feet and legs
had something on them, like sores, but it wasn't avian pox, I don't think.
They were all gnarled. The useless one was so tightly clenched that the claws
had worn holes in the flesh of her foot. She obviously hadn't eaten anything
in a very long time. And she smelled. She smelled......sweet. Not a nice
sweet, just oh god, a ghastly, sickly sweet. Like she'd had gangrene or
something.
I could probably have hit her with a broom and killed her, but she was
already terrified..........

Of course I feel badly about it. She was heading for (what I fondly imagine)
she thought was sanctuary, and I shot her. But I like to think that I put her
out of her misery. She had already spent weeks dying slowly........I merely
hastened it. Poor thing.

All things die. We are the only species that seems to try to forestall it,
but all things die in the end. Nature is seldom pretty about it.

Michelle
MBlanchrd at aol.com