TV's no good for you

Donna and I, in the short time that we've been wildlife carers have been called out to a few rescues. We've had to turn down a few for various reasons, but we've had a few calls just lately that we've attended, including a dead possum that may have had a baby in the pouch, but turned out to be a juvenile male.

Last Friday we got called out to pick up a lorikeet that couldn't fly. Most of these calls come via the RSPCA, so they're third or fourth hand by the time we get the details. This one, like the juvy possum was no different. The only details we had were that it couldn't fly and it was a business address.

We put the necessary gear in the car, programmed the GPS for the correct address, and off we went. The GPS took us via the scenic route and we arrived at a private address that was running a pest control business, totally legally I should add.

We walked in with our gear, looking totally professional, as we usually do (think Oscar nominees) and were told that the lorikeet we were to rescue was contained.

This is always a big relief when you do a rescue. Rescue is a bit of a misnomer, because nine times out of ten the person calling it in has contained the animal and it's just a case of assessing the animal, then taking it away.

This particular animal had managed to do something that we hadn't experienced before. We get a lot of lorikeets that have concussed themselves by flying into buildings, trees, windows or cars, this one had managed to collide with a TV antenna, something that takes either a bit of accuracy or some really bad luck. He (or she) had pierced his chest and was bleeding a fair bit.

We gave him a quick assessment, then put him into a basket along with Donna's leather gloves that he wouldn't let go of, then took him to a local vet that we know is really good with wildlife, and especially birds. If you live in the Cleveland area in the Redlands then I can recommend Dr David Banks at the Raby Bay vet surgery, he really, really cares about the animals he's treating.

With the three of us holding our patient, Donna holding the legs, me holding the head, and Dr Dave doing the important stuff, our poor patient was given a thorough examination.

The hole in his chest was close to the crop, so the doc used a syringe to put a saline solution down into the crop to see if it had been pierced. That was OK, so he gave the little guy a couple of injections, one was an antibiotic and the other a pain killer.

We left with high hopes for the bird and some antibiotics to feed him every day for the next four or five days. Oh, and instructions to flush out the wound with salt water.

We kept that up religiously for a few days, and I think he was starting to get used to us. He certainly quietened down each time we gave him his 0.1mm of antibiotics. Unfortunately, Donna checked on him last night and he hadn't made it.

We had high hopes for him, but sometimes, as the vet said, they show their gratitude by dying on you. This little guy at least gave us the opportunity to learn from him. We got some experience in handling a bird that is capable of (and has a reputation for) inflicting some pretty serious wounds when they bite. We also got some experience in treating a bird that had a pretty serious injury. So, as sad as it was, his passing wasn't for nothing.

Just so he's not forgotten, here's a picture of him being spoon fed a couple of hours before he passed on.