Roadrunners

This evening after working at the clinic I went to another vet clinic to pick up some baby roadrunners that someone had dropped off there for Wildlife Rescue. Well, instead of being greeted by huge members of the cuckoo family, upon receiving the box I ws greeted with a high-pitched cry similar to that of a far-off sea bird; hmmmm, definitely not a Roadrunner. In the box were two tiny Killdeer chicks.

Killdeer are members of the plover family and look like little shore birds. They nest on the ground (usually in a flat open grassy area, near water) and their babies are frequently picked up by kindhearted (if mistaken) individuals who believe the birds have fallen out of their nest. In reality they have simply walked out of their nest (probably following the parent bird) in search of something to ingest.

Since Wildlife Rescue had already picked up the animals from the clinic where I volunteer, I took the killdeer chicks home (horribly illegal and wonderfully fineable)to care for them until tomorrow when I go to the clinic.

One of the chicks was acting lethargic compared to the other. It seemed he couldn't stand very well. While I was holding him and trying to feed him he leapt out of my hands and fell tot he floor. I gasped. Aww crud! But he was alright and struggled to get away when I reached for him. Then I noticed something large that looked like dried feces stuck to his belly where the yolk sack was attached to the egg. Taking him into the bathroom, I rinsed his abdomen until the stuff came off. It turned out to be two little pebbly rocks. No wonder he couldn't walk very well; if I had two rocks stuck to my stomach I wouldn't be able to walk well either!

Taking the chick into the living room, I told my Mom about what had happened. While I was talking the chick leapt out of my hand and landed on his side on the floor. Gosh-dar n-it! He wasn't moving. "Now you've killed him!" Mom said. Oh man, I thought I had too. Then he started moving and I ran him back into the utility room where I'd set up a heating pad for them. He turned out to be OK, but I decided that there'd be no more trips into the living room for these guys. The one that I'd dropped (twice) was still a little wet from his rinsing and it made him seem smaller and weaker than his sibling.

The next time I went out to feed I was extra careful. Both birds were alert and walking around and the one who'd lost half his body weight when I'd removed the rocks seemed to be alright (he might have to ride the short bus to school, but he probably won't have to wear a helmet). While I was feeding his sib Carrie (as I'd dubbed the head trauma bird), started running around on Mom's desk. Woops, don't want him falling off; better put him back in his box. Oh Dar n it! I almost crushed him by knocking over a huge cup of pens. This little bird should be named Calamity Jane or something else equally appropriate to his propensity for getting in and out of scrapes. He has survived more horrible incidents since I picked him up (not to mention being found underneath somebody's car in a parking lot before he was dropped off at the clinic) if he were a cat he'd have used up several of his nine lives.

Ah well, better hit the sack as I have to get up at 3:30AM to drive my friend's parents to the airport (she's out of town -such a good friend... I guess that's what they're for).

Christine

PS Oh, forgot to mention: the clinic where I picked him up is hiring for a vet tech position. I put in an application, so maybe, just maybe, that is why God wanted me to run all the way out to get those birds (well, that and to save the birds, of course); we'll see.