I’ve been meaning to come back here and try to describe a typical day working at PAWS, but I’ve had trouble figuring out where to start. The work is incredibly varied and repetitive at the same time. There are some tasks that seem to happen all day every day; dishes and laundry are both bottomless pits that are never done, each requiring more steps than you would imagine. For example, each and every item of laundry has to be shaken out over the garbage can to dislodge any food/dirt/feces, and to make sure that no small bird or mammal is clinging to it before being put into the industrial washer. This all has to be done wearing goggles, latex gloves and a surgical mask, to protect us from any zoonotic diseases or parasites. And folding the laundry is not a quick task either; we have to make sure that there are no holes, loops, or loose threads on the sheets and towels and if there are they need to be cut off to prevent potential injury to our patients. The importance of this step was brought home to me recently when a baby squirrel was found one morning with a loose thread that had wrapped around his arm causing the bone to break and the whole appendage to swell. The vets wanted to give him a chance, but unfortunately, the arm turned necrotic and the squirrel had to be euthanized. A sad ending that has led to increased vigilance in the laundry room.
Feedings are another around-the-clock activity. Dish feedings, syringe feedings, tube feedings. Soaking chows, thawing fish/krill/carnivore log, mixing formulas, chopping veggies/fruit, injecting thawed fish with B12, pulling up syringe food (fish slurry and a sort of strained mixture for birds called – don’t ask me why – “fons“). Each species has its own specialized dietary requirements, and each patient its own feeding needs/schedule. Almost everyone gets dish food, except for sick/emaciated animals that get tube fed until they can handle self-feeding. The mammals in the wards get fed formula every few hours. The small mammals on “the hill” (basically, those old enough to self feed) get fed in the mornings. The birds in the aviaries and the raptor mews get fed in the mornings and replenished through the day. The raccoons only get fed in the evenings. And for each age group of each different species a different complex diet has to be prepared fresh daily. It’s not a question of simply pouring out some bird seed. Corvids (crows and jays), for example, get a mix of soaked dog chow and soaked omnivore chow, mixed with sunflower seeds, chopped fruit, and protein. Songbirds get soaked dog chow with birdseed and chopped fruit. The mallards get waterfowl maintenance with cracked corn, shredded greens, and mealworms. The gulls get chow with lots and lots of fish, into which we have to inject vitamins. Herons get fish floating in water. Woodpeckers get canned cat food with live mealworms mixed in, smeared onto the wall. And that’s just a small sampling of the different tastes we have to cater to every day. (And that’s not even counting the baby bird nursery which has its own very busy cadre of volunteers feeding some very hungry mouths literally all day from sunup to sundown.) We even have to feed the mealworms.
Then there’s cleaning cages/pens/pools; weighing patients; administering meds; setting up new cages/pens/pools; cleaning and changing the trifectant in all the foot baths; collecting all the garbage and bringing it to the dumpster; disinfecting doorknobs and light switches; replenishing sheets and towels in the surgery, exam room, nursery, ward, small mammal room (aka pop-top room), raccoon city, and baby bird nursery; scrubing all the sinks in the building; spraying and scrubbing all the items on the outdoor cleaning pad (you have no idea how hard it is to get mealworms out of astroturf); sweeping and mopping all the floors, and an ongoing list of seemingly endless daily tasks that need doing. And that’s not including the extra tasks that the rehabbers set us depending on the needs of the moment. Today, we (myself and two other interns) had to “flame” one of the aviaries. Literally go in there with a propane tank and a flame-thrower and go over every inch of the place because the juvenile Robins that had just been moved out of there were being treated for gapeworm. I can truly say, there’s never a dull moment, although sometimes you wish there were. At the end of the day, I come home, leave my shoes outside, strip naked, throwing every scrap of clothes in the washing machine, hop in the shower and scrub every inch of my body, and collapse onto the couch to finally give my aching feet a break and set my brain to “0”.
Anyway, I know that’s a lot of text to take in all at once, but I hope it paints a picture of the ordered chaos of a busy wildlife rehab center. And for those of you who are thinking “Yeah, yeah, but where are the cute animals?” check out this story that a local station did about us on the news recently. (And for extra cuteness, click on both of the video links.)