Defiance

Definance, the peregrine falcon, lost his wing when it got tangled in wire. He was left permanently disabled.

However, he has found a new home at Elmwood Park Zoo in Norristown, PA.
There he will live out his days with a companion, another peregrin falcon, entertaining and educating all who come to visit him at the zoo.

If you ever happen to be in Norristown, do drop in . . .

Magic Jack

This black-tailed jackrabbit is a bit of a miracle. Few rabbits survive an attack. This little female came in dehydrated and hungry. Her eyes had just opened and the bunny had the blurry-eyed gaze of an animal still not fully sited. This little baby was so small she fit in the palm of the 10-year-old child who gave it to me for rehabilitation.

Here Majic Jack is seen, not quite ready for release. Although she exhibits at the instinctive startle response that one of her species needs for survival; she's still a bit too friendly with her human carer as the rabbit tries to climb onto the carer's lap in hopes of a nibble -- a carrot or a piece of apple -- or two.

The Escapades of Jeremiah the Squirrel

It's been a while and rehabilitation hit with a bang this year, with some 20 raptors from American Kestrels to Swainson and Red-tail hawks, several barn owls and a grey fox. Now I'm down to a black-tail jack rabbit, one rock squirrel and a peregrine falcon which I'm holding for transfer. The jack rabbit and the rock squirrel both are firsts for me, the rock squirrel the first of its species and same for the desert jack rabbit. I've developed admiration for these plucky little species who generally are on the main menu for the most predators around here.

Oh, I've taken care of lots of squirrels, fox squirrels, the largest squirrels; grey squirrels hundreds, flying squirrels, but never a rock squirrel. The fox squirrel is the the most even-tempered; the grey squirrels can be a bit psychotic, and flying squirrels are in a class by themselves, but the rock squirrel so far seems the most intelligent.

She was found in the Holiday Inn Express parking lot, dehydrated, half-starved and the other half, dead. This is the proverbial concrete jungle, adjacent to other hotel parking lots, and to I-10. Who know how the squirrel got there -- most likely carried off by a predator-- and who knows how long she was there? She lucked out being found by a vet tech who was returning to Georgia after a trip to California. The woman was just driving through and found the squirrel by chance as she checked into the hotel.

The baby squirrel's eyes were just starting to open, but she wasn't focusing yet. The first thing she saw was me, a frightening prospect for any species. It was touch and go for a few days, but eventually the squirrel pulled through and she is thriving. A bit fat as she gobbles down nuts in preparation for winter cold.

The psychological ramifications of the incident seem to be imprinted upon her brain. My little baby is suffering from post traumatic stress disorder. For the first few days, I was awakened each night with thready screams. I'd run into the room where I keep the critters I found she was sleeping. She was having a nightmare (proving that squirrels like dogs dream.) When I'd awaken her, she would open her little eyes, see my face and then settle back into slumber. When she was awake or if she awoke and found herself alone, she cried, and the only thing that reassured her was my presence. It's only in the last week she stopped screaming for me, and she has been moved outside.

I worried that I had a true case of imprinting, but the separation process is already starting. She is an escape artist. The first cage was not very sturdy; she could have fit into a 1/2 cup container, she didn't need anything heavy, but I needed easy access to accomadate her bottle-feeding schedule. Then she began to do what all babies must do, grow up, and one day as she was chewing on her cage door, she lifted it up. You could almost see the lightbulb going off as she realized that she had found the way to freedom. I used bread ties to keep the doors closed; she learned to remove them, and also learned that they were not good to each, which puts the rock squirrel in the genius category of the squirrel family. Eventually I put her in a heavy-duty air kennel that would have challenged a raccoon, and she found her way out.

Takin' care of buzy-ness

Where to begin . . . when I've not a made a posting for nearly six months. I am like everyone else been busy. Since January, my nursing license came through; I've completed my teaching certificate and signed contracts for three books. Tw0 -- Dark Lullaby and Turkey Creek Adventures -- are reprints or new editions, and one is brand new. I've also received my New Mexico wildlife rehabilitation permit (For details, please see http://jessicalittledeer.wetpaint.com/.)

Now I'm trying to adopt two birds, a barred owl and Mississippi Kite, under what is known as special purpose permit for educators. Then I'll be able to bring animals on any talks. I'll keep you posted, but for now you get sneak previews of coming attractions. Let me introduce, what I hope will be my two new family members, pending approval.

The final chapter

For those of you who have been following the challenges of Beasty Boy, this is the final and very joyous chapter of his release. Although as most stories, it is not without its traumas. Tropical storm Fay made its appearance in Tallahassee on Friday, and soggy appearance at that, with 25 inches of rain falling in 24 hours.

By now, Beasty absolutely refused to be confined in a kennel or a pen, and for a while the conditions were such with the water lapping at the door I could do little more than peer out the door and hope for the best. On day twopf Fau, he was getting tired of staying out in the rain and demanded entrance into my home, but I had been forced to leave by the rising water and knew that he would be better off outside where he could get up to higher. Eventually I returned home and he was so happy to see me that he jumped into my arms.

Again I despaired that I might, for the first time in 8 years working with wildlife, have my first case of imprinting. That night, Beasty scratched at the door, tired of being left outside. This time I relented. Since Beast had no manners and would have insisted on chewing on the cats if he had been allowed, I placed him a large air kennel; but this would not do. He tore at the confines of his cage. He certainly did not understand why the cats were allowed to run around the house and he was not.

Finally, I was forced to take him outside and release him from the kennel in order to prevent injury. For Beasty, four days under a deluge while the cats stayed, fat, happy and notably dry inside the house was the last straw. It was time to check out the real world where he didn't sit dripping wet as the cats sat smuggly on the other side of the glass mocking him, and he took off. The separation process I believe is harder on the rehabber than it is on the animal, for the next 24 hours I worried about him -- fearful that he had been swept away in the flood.

But our story has a happy ending, Beasty Boy the grey fox was spotted the next day pouncing on crickets and having a whale of a time about a mile away from home and there he remains. So Beasty Boy is back where he belongs in the wild, hunting small prey as he polishes his skills until he's ready to stalk bigger quarry and should he return for a visit, I believe we find him a snack.

Night on the town

Beasty, the beastly fox, spent his first night out on the town or in this case country, out foxing around, and it must have tired him out considerably because he's spent the entire day sleeping under the storage shed -- his makeshift den.

More likely, he must have been frightened by something, for on the one and only occasion he stuck his nose out from underneath the shed, he immediately retreated at the first unrecognized noise.

Guess it will be a little while longer before I have to worry about those fast women and wild car.

Beastly

Well, Beasty Boy the fox continues to grow up. He has started to produce the musk that is the fox's hallmark of the adolescent and adult animal. He's free to run about all day long. Beasty reveals his intelligence if not his willingness to go it alone. He has figured out what doorknobs do, and when he decides it is time to come inside the house -- as he has today because it is raining -- he leaps at the doorknob in an effort to open the door. If he ever develops hands, I'm in trouble. Still I know I have raised an animal which at least has the good sense to come in out of the rain. In other ways, the fox is showing his independence as he growls at me if I try to convince him to do something he does not like. However, if I wander outside to sit on the deck I find myself with a lap full of fox who has now decided that I am some sort of humungous chew toy.

And so it goes . ..

Hugs and kisses

Animals are a lot like cars. The minute you say one thing, they do the opposite. So it is with Beasty Boy. Yesterday I was boasting about how he was beginning to separate from me. Almost as soon as I completed the postand put it on my blog, I went outside to check on him, and he immediately climbed on my lap. So much for reverting to the wild. Admittedly I had awakened him and he was bit groggy. Therefore I assume that my lap was marginally softer than the deck. However, once he had finished yawning, he was up and tearing about.

Of course, there's a stage in the process of soft release when the critter in question has a foot, or a paw, in both worlds. For the rehabilitator, it is one of the nicest times. In 8 years, I've had the pleasure of having a squirrel, a raccoon, a fox, a dove, a blackbird, a bluejay, and even a hawk light on my lap as they adjusted to the wonder of being outdoors. In fact, the only animal that never tried it was a deer, and that was quite simply because she wouldn't fit.

Most people have moments they'll treasure. For me, it's the gentle kiss of a fox upon my hand, the nuzzel of a deer upon my neck, tiny raccoon hands playing with my face and the brush of a blackbird's beak upon my lips.

Every time, I think of giving up working with wildlife because it seems too expensive a hobby to continue, I remember these moments and decide that I'll stick it out, just a little while longer. If you are interested in donating wildlife conservation, please go to the following website.

http://jessicalittledeer.wetpaint.com

Freedom

Well, the process of release has begun with Beasty Boy our favorite fox. He's weaned himself from formula. (He tried to bury the last two bowls that were offered to him.) My little man is growing up. Sigh. The next thing you know it will be fast women and wild cars -- or maybe it's the other way round up.

His return to the wild will occur in stages. The first phase has begun when he's let out of his pen to run around while he can be monitored. We've been doing this for a few days now, and the separation process has also begun. On day one, he hung around and wanted to play with mum -- that's me -- on day four, he does not want to get too close because he's afraid I will put him back inside his kennel.

Beasty Boy is a pretty bright boy. By tomorrow, he may avoid me altogether. If that happens then, he'll be staying out all day. The kennel door will remain open so he can get access to his food. The door will be closed at night once he is inside. That is phase two.

In a soft release, the animal releases him or herself. With Beasty Boy, phase three will begin when the fox decides he does not need to get food from the snack bar. I may see occasionally as a grey streak in the forest, but my work will be done.

Until that time, I'll keep you posted.

Jessica's Adventures in Cyperspace

Creating a couple of websites and a blog is more than an adventure. It is enough to make a strong man weep and the purely pragmatic turn superstitious. When logic fails, you contemplate the arcane; You considering going out to find a chicken to slaughter in order read its entrails until your computer repairman points out that the goo will probably gum up the keyboard. You try Holy Water instead and short out the system.

After having worked on what should have been a simple project for days, and days, AND DAYS, and weeks, you eventually bring out the heavy artillery, approaching the computer with a necklace of garlic and brandishing a wooden stake.

The daring will attempt to circumnavigate the help files only to discover that none of the questions in the FAQs page cover your particular inquiry. Meanwhile the search function makes you ponder the universe of cyberspace and ask yourself such questions as: “what is reality?” Eventually, you doubt the meaning of words and your knowledge of synonyms. Still you need the information so you search under delete to find it is not registered. Remove? Nada. Erase: Rien de chose.

Undaunted you try to find another function such as upload in the not-so-helpful help files and, finally, get an answer from search that tells you
· the limitations of uploading,
· the file sizes allowed,
· and the type of files that are permissible;
but notably not how to upload a file. Icons yield no results; the menu offers none of the above, such as simple prompt.

You send off increasingly frantic e-mails to beleaguered support staff, who probably wonder about the infinite number of ways an educated person can scramble relatively simple software. At the end of the day, you both -- support staff and bewildered webmaster -- go home to make appointments with your respective therapists who, in turn, laugh all the way to the bank.

The naïve will try another web site, only to discover the vagaries of the first far outweigh the mysteries of the second…the third, and the fourth. The brave will go into the source file and discover the wonderland of HTML, and if they are lucky, they will make it out alive.

The advantages of the internet for industry become more and more apparent the longer you work on your website. Your hairdresser profits as he or she tries to find a means to use the last remaining strands on your head to cover the bald spaces left after you’ve torn most of your hair out. Your doctor, the pharmacies and the drug companies profit as you get prescriptions for tranquilizers, antacids, and sleep aids, and if you are of that ilk, your liquor store owner grins as you walk in the door with a dazed and glazed expression on your face, as he says: “Working on the internet again, I see.”

Computer repairmen are delighted as you get yet another version of the same old virus and finally you install a revolving door for ease of access. The local computer store salesperson scowls as he or she helps you replace your keyboard or your monitor for the umpteenth time, the last having been mangled when you attacked it with a hammer.

Until finally, you find the “key” in a sudden flash of inspiration. Let your five-year-old do it, and “voila” the website is complete.

Get by with a little help from my friends . . .

Trying to get this blog and a couple of websites up and running has been one of the more traumatic experiences of my life. I try to set up music and end up with ruddy great white space on the page. I try to remove this and can find no instructions. Elsewhere, I try to insert some instructions in HTML, do it right, but it doesn't work. Sigh.

Last week's difficulty was getting a donate button on the website I have designed for a 501(c)3 that deals with wildlife conservation. Seems simple enough, go to pay pal, get the appropriate HTML code and paste it in. What I ended up with rather than a nice tidy little button was a bunch of goobledy gook in HTML, printed out on the page.

Support for most of these sites is next to nonexistent, and help files often no help at all unless you can divine the tag or keywords under which is it logged. Although most these organizations try to provide assistance, often the response is: "I don't know", "can't do it", or "have you tried our help files?" And one can well imagine they are probably tired of getting frantic e-mails from this adventurous imbecile who has more ideas than know-how.

Enter now, our heros, Elaine Klonicki and John Wood, who rescued me from myself. John Wood provided the donate button and the wherewithal to do it, and Elaine Klonicki gave me both moral support and an idiot's lesson in blogs. Visit their websites Elaine at: http://www.klonicki.com/, blog: www.klonicki.com/blog and John's I believe can be found at http://www.johnwood.com/.

While I get by with a little help from my friends . . . . Now if anyone can help me get that ruddy great blank spot off this blog, I'd be eternally grateful.

Beasty Boy's back

Not all unhappy endings are unhappy.

Some are not endings at all.

Beasty Boy is back of his own volition. After two days fending for himself, the fox decided that he liked it better where the food was. He woke me up at 5 o'clock in the morning clawing at the door. We, of course, celebrated with me stuffing him full of food, as much food as his little tummy could tolerate. Meanwhile, he climbed all over me he was so glad to be home.

But he's a wild one still.

He got his name, Beasty Boy, quite simply because he is so beastly. He has no couth at all. He has all the energy of a puppy without any of its manners or discipline.

Mind you. He does not respond to his name, and that's one of the things that differentiates the domestic from the wild, the ability to grasp the concepts of names. Even a cat, who rarely responds when called, acknowledges the use of its name with a twitch of its ears, and then may condescend -- if it's in the mood -- to come to you.

With Beasty Boy there's nary a twitch. After yesterday's joyful reunion, today he was usual beastly self using me as a chew toy and I'm glad he's home.

Working with wildlife rehabilitation is not all cute little fuzzy animals. Sometimes you have a sad day. Today was just a day. The fox escaped that came in in May; he was about 4 months old and it was at least 2 months before he was due to be released. As a matter of fact, he hadn't been completely weaned. He wasn't being bottle fed, but he still drank milk from a bowl. Even though I kept trying to wean him, I'd always after a couple of days start giving him milk again. He just wouldn't get enough nutrition otherwise. Often if you have "slow learners," as this one appears to be, you have to keep them over winter.

This isn't the first time he's escaped, and it always happens the same way; someone decides to mow their lawn. I've talked to all my neighbors and asked them to tell me if they're going to mow so I can move the fox inside, but they don't seem to understand how long you have to keep an animal if they come in as an infant. I gather they thought since I'd asked them a month ago that they didn't need to worry about it know. The problem is that you don't just take care of them for a couple of weeks while they are cute and cuddly; you keep them for months and month, and you usally have to maintain them until they are nearly grown, for up to a year.

This fox was getting wild, so perhaps he'll survive. The first time he escaped, I caught him as he came trotting up the path. The second time he came back half-starved after three days. The problem is: this time, he was big enough to have hurt himself if he squeezed through the gap between the gate and the post. He may be torn up and if he's bloody, his chances of surviving through the night aren't nearly as good. The smell will attract predators. Meanwhile I have a family of four raccoons living in a woodpile in my yard, and papa -- a fifth raccoon and a loner -- still shows up nightly to see if there's anything good to eat.

jessicapalmer-author

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