“Wild Heart Ranch, this is Annette. May I help you?” I answered the phone with a smile in my voice, even though I would have much rather have run it through the washing machine as take another call today. My wildlife clinic was wall to wall spring orphans and I was working alone. Raccoons awaiting fed in their play pens, birds screaming from cages lining the walls of the room that was my prison from May through July each year. I loved my job, but going without sleep to keep up a twenty hour a day feeding schedule was beginning to wear on me. The tiny beaver kit in my lap began to fuss as I removed his bottle to answer the phone. I pushed my irritation aside to focus on the call, which I was certain was yet another mouth to feed that would meet certain death if I didn’t answer, didn’t make room, didn’t make time, didn’t find the money to care for the little animal who had nowhere else to go but here. It was my self-imposed responsibility, and somehow, I seemed to always manage just one more. Often times those just one more calls would come fifty plus times a day. It had been a series of those days, and I was feeling the effects. I would try to get through the call as quickly as possible as my neck was killing me from feeding babies while taking hundreds of calls every day, and I still had another twelve hours to go.
“Hi, yes! We have found a baby squirrel and want to bring it to you!” The lady’s voice said on the other end. I grit my teeth as the beaver kit began to urinate in my lap. The phone slipped as I tried to get a blanket under him. It was of no use. I would be a human toilet again today. Nothing new this time of year.
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“No problem. Can you bring it to me now?” I asked, knowing that the sooner I got the baby, the less work it would be to save it’s life. The sooner the better is always the best tactic for orphans. “Yes, we can be on our way now.” And we hung up. It was a quick phone call. I was grateful. The beaver kit was beginning to suck his bottle again, now that he had created more room by emptying his bladder, and I needed to get him fed and start an incubator heating up for the new arrival.
My incubators are primitive, just plastic storage containers, air holes strategically drilled for ventilation, but they work perfectly. I can regulate the temp by placing them on heat pads, completely or partially, the size of the tub bigger or smaller depending on the size of the animal inside. Those tubs would provide warmth to thousands of little lives over the years, and right now I had more than sixty filled with nest after nest of motherless children of the wild. Skunks, birds, squirrels, raccoons and of course, beaver kits. It was my favorite place to be in the whole world, in my clinic during baby season, but there was no question, I was tired, and my patience with people was beginning to wane.
It wasn’t long that a minivan pulled up in my driveway. A woman and two young boys emerged. One dutifully holding a shoe box. I was not up for having children in my clinic today. Though I loved sharing my work with people and educating and encouraging children to be kind to animals, I was in survival mode and I needed to get to the gate and get my squirrel and quickly get back to work.
The mom dutifully gave me the complete run down on the boy‘s efforts to save the squirrel, and finally after a tearful farewell to the terrified little animal, handed him to me over the fence, looking as if someone had just stolen their puppy. I’d seen this look from children hundreds of times. They had rescued the animal, been praised for their efforts, even encouraged to learn how to care for it, but for some reason (either the fact that it’s illegal or the point where junior was caught with it in his backpack attempting to smuggle it to school for show and tell) the parents decide bad idea to keep it. That’s the point when they explain to the kids they are taking it to a lady who lives in the middle of nowhere, take a left, past the spotted cow, who will care for it and turn it loose in the woods where it belongs (which is where the kids just saved it from) and it will live happily ever after (so long as there are no dogs, guns, cars, coyotes, hawks or owls in the vicinity). The children typically resent me from the moment I take the animal from them. I’ve witnessed tantrum after tantrum. The parents theorize that the experience of doing the right thing is good for the kids, but I’ve mostly witnessed the result of the kids hating my guts and stomping back to the car, deciding the little animal is most definitely doomed.
The baby was cold and I really needed to get him inside to the tub that awaited his arrival. The woman wanted to take the opportunity to educate her children on rescue, which I completely appreciated…any other day but today. I finally placed the squirrel under my shirt, against my stomach to try to give him some warmth as the mom began to pray openly for the recovery of the little animal. I bit my lip, I bit my tongue and I struggled for patience. I am all about prayer, but more importantly, I was all about feeding the four hundred babies on time in my clinic and getting a few hours of sleep before I had to do it alone again tomorrow.
About that time, Brody, my 200 pound Saint Bernard came bounding up to me. “PEOPLE! GOTTA COME SEE!” As Brody’s thought bubble typically says at times like this. Brody immediately caught the smell of the beaver kit as my lap was still soaked with urine, and proceeded to plant his nose directly into my crotch, to which I was helpless to stop him, trying to cradle the squirrel as I attempted to fend off the giant curious goober dog with my knee. “OH NO! HES TRYING TO GET OUR SQUIRREL!” The older boy exclaimed in alarm, to which I replied; “No, it’s okay. He smells my beaver!” I said innocently. The look on the woman’s face became instant alarm which confused me. She grabbed both her boys by their shirt collars, roughly pulling them away from the fence, the youngest saying “Oh, I wanna see your beaver!” “SHUT UP TRAVIS! GET IN THE VAN!” As she hurled her offspring into the side sliding door, slamming it hard, her prayers forgotten, my mind racing with utter confusion until it dawned on me…Crap! “BUCK TEETH! FLAT TAIL! EATS TREEEEES! IT PEED ON MY LAP!” I yelled. She was no longer listening. She was completely horrified now, desperately trying to get her children out of earshot and was cringing at anything I had to say. The minivan spun out of my drive throwing gravel in all directions, and I was quickly left standing alone at my fence, a warming squirrel under my shirt, my loyal (and nosey) Saint at my side, the minivan hurling down the country road at break neck speed. It wasn’t exactly the manner I intended to cut the delivery short and get back to work, but at this point in the season, I’ll take it!
