Please forgive the length of this, but today held a birding experience that is one of those mixed blessings. Over the past seven years I've had the privilege of being involved in raptor rescue and rehabilitation, with some efforts ending in failure and others in success. For those ending in failure, one enduring compensation is the renewed awareness that there are, indeed, many caring individuals and organizations in our community, willing to lay it on the line for fellow creatures in trouble.
Personal obligations have prevented even the health-maintaining hour of daily exercise, much less regular birding recently, and today was no exception. All that time allowed was a quick check to find out if the Crosby Park (St. Paul) backwaters are finally cleared enough of flooding to allow passage. (They are, but beware the stinging nettle.) I'd just arrived there when the call came from my fellow Raptor Center volunteer and rescue-mentor, Terry. She knows I'm often able to adjust the order of my day to fit in a rescue, and she knows where I live. There was a Great Blue heron in dire straits, less than a mile from my home. The homeowner who called it in had tried all kinds of parties, every one of them swamped with rescue work and short of resources for this one, but each one had given her another lead on where to call for help. Thanks to the persistence of Sarah, one of the Raptor Center's hard-working volunteers, Terry had gotten the word to pass on. Meanwhile, the concerned, desperate homeowner had ignored a warning not to call the fire department, and had done just that. They, in turn, were truly wonderful about coming to help, saying she could have called them directly from the beginning. Terry, Sarah, and I did some phone coordinating while I exited Crosby to walk up to W. 7th where I'd parked. I was to drive directly to the site on Juliet and meet the fire truck, which I did. Sadly, the bird had died only 10 to 20 minutes ago. It had swallowed a fishhook with line attached, which had wrapped around its throat and then tangled in a tree. The bird had been stuck hanging and struggling for the mere act of trying to feed itself. We were all just too late, and felt awful about that. Amelia (or Emilia---don't know how she spells it), the young Mom who called it in, was advised to leave the carcass in a wildlife area as carrion, if the hook could be removed. It was so far down the tract I couldn't extract it, so she'll bury it to prevent other creatures from ingesting the hook. I share this story for a few reasons. One is to re-iterate the importance of removing stray fishing line, our own or anyone's, when we find it. Since this may be preaching to the choir, another reason is to ask that anyone with a public voice (news column, MOU State Fair booth, blog, etc.) to remind the rest of the world of this responsibility. Last but not least is to remind us all that there are caring 'non-birders' out there who would truly appreciate having a co-ordinated, central list of the various rescue operations to call in such emergencies, if someone can pull it together and/or publicize it. We'd all rather there weren't a "next time", but if there is, perhaps we needn't be too late to save a fellow creature. Linda Whyte ---- Join or Leave mou-net: http://lists.umn.edu/cgi-bin/wa?SUBED1=mou-net Archives: http://lists.umn.edu/archives/mou-net.html
