aliceinwonderland

As I was traveling on Route 30 East on a late winter day in 2001, I glanced across into the westbound lanes and saw a crow standing at the bottom of an exit ramp on the berm. Something about the crow’s posture set off alarm bells: its head was down, wings akimbo in an almost raptor-like mantle. A quick glance into the nearby trees told me there were no other crows around. Another bad sign, as crows rarely travel alone. I made a mental note to come back the same way to see if the crow was still on the side of the road.

Sure enough, as I rounded a bend, I saw the crow in about the same place. I was in the fast lane at the time, and, as safely as possible, I cut off several cars to cross both lanes and ended up on the shoulder about 30 feet beyond where the crow stood. As I exited the car, several thoughts went through my mind. I had no gloves – crows can bite and grip painfully with their feet. I had no carrier or box in which to put the crow once I had it. Also, if the bird flushed at my approach, it could end up in two lanes of cars and trucks traveling at 50+ MPH. I didn’t relish the idea of watching a bird I was trying to rescue get run down before my eyes, and I didn’t want to be in the position of racing into oncoming traffic to try to intervene (not an impossibility).

As I cautiously approached the distressed crow, I peeled off my flannel shirt. I figured I could use it both as a capture aid and a restraint in which to wrap and contain the bird for the remainder of the journey back to my center. I took each step slowly; crows are savvy and have extraordinary vision. I didn’t want to startle it. I crept; I snuck; I nearly tiptoed. The crow never raised its head to turn my way.

I figured the noise of the traffic less than five feet away masked my approach. Those who routinely do rescues know my feeling at that moment. My heart was beating just a little too hard as I made my final move – anything could happen. Two feet from my target, I threw my shirt over the crow and pounced, palms pressing its wings to its body to prevent escape. The bird was motionless beneath my hands – paralyzed with fear, no doubt.

     In the next second, I realized the bird was not just motionless, it was stiff. Surely, my brain raced, it had not remained standing in the rigor of death! I picked the crow up, and the piece of branch upon which it perched came off the ground with it. I had rescued . . . a stuffed crow! In an Alice-like, Through the Looking Glass twist, I found myself rescuing a mount instead of mounting a rescue. I wonder what passing motorists thought as a laughing woman in a red hat carried a crow stuck to a stick back to her waiting car.

     This was not one of my most successful rescues, since this particular crow was well beyond my help; but I’d do it again in a minute. In fact, the mount has become a sort-of mascot here at the center. Dubbed “Evermore,” he is a reminder that those of us involved in rehabilitation eat, sleep, drink, and breath wildlife welfare: there are no days off, no private times, no holidays, no simple trip up Route 30 on a personal errand that can’t be put aside for a wild creature in need.

     We wouldn’t have it any other way.

An Alice in Wonderland Rescue...