Training in wildlife rescue tactics comes in handy at odd times... a letter from a former employee

Dear Wildlife Works,      Just this past fall I discovered that training in rescue tactics for wildlife comes in handy at odd times…   and quite frankly my training was merely the vicarious sort, conversing with Beth through the hospital door and via phone conversations , coaching callers through baby bird re-nesting techniques—as for hands-on experience, I had none.  But, as with many things, having experience couldn’t have helped too much this time around…      It was 9:30 PM on a Tuesday in September, 2001.  Our 3-hour poetry class had just let out, and we were all a bit frazzled from our hours of alliterative efforts.       Someone summoned his watch and with the official “okay we’re out of here” from his expression, we all climbed over chairs and tables and broke for the door… only to trip all over each other as the first people into the hall were ducking and squealing, covering their heads in utter terror.       “What could it be?” I thought as I pulled my face out of the backpack of the person in front of me.  Just then, it swooped down again, desperately trying to figure out why the hallway had no out.  The poor  thing.  It was just a little brown bat that had flown in the door and up the stairwell.  I suppose leaving a trail of breadcrumbs for its return trip must have slipped its mind.      Nevertheless, this tiny, fragile creature had the whole class in an uproar.      By the time I had made my way into the hallway, the bat had managed to climb up into the fire alarm bell at the end of the hall.      “Ring the bell!”  they were saying, “Yeah ring the bell!  That’ll get’im out!”      Fortunately, this class full of 4th year college students had begun like any regular elementary school class with the telling of how we had spent our summer months.  While others told tales of jaunts to Europe and Peace Corps positions, I had the pleasure of explaining that I had worked for Wildlife Works… how amazingly convenient.

“Get it out of there!  Ahh! Don’t touch it!”  said the short one with the thick glasses as she covered her hair with both arms.

Another student and I had managed to shoo the others who had been tapping the bell with pencils—all it really took was the calm mention of the words “rabies vector species” and the path was cleared.  In no time, we had a table pushed up against the wall with me standing on it, jacket in hand.  I carefully enveloped the bell with the jacket.  When the bat came fluttering out, he was trapped gently in the fleece and then the other student took the bundle down the stairs and out the door where the bat was released successfully.      I wonder what would have become of that poor little bat, had that other student and I not been there to calm the masses of maddened poets… I suppose the lesson we learn here is that it pays to know a little more about wildlife than the average Joe… or the blossoming Thoreau. Sincerely, Anne Richardson