Hatchday for two
Gemma and I are tired from our unintended adventure last night.
Yesterday was Paddington's Hatchday. He was exactly one year old. Millie, being the most-ever-so-considerate doggy-sister that a parrot ever had, decided to find Paddington the perfect hatchday gift: A baby brother.
So Millie made us walk her over and over last night, while refusing to actually do anything but sniff. That's pretty unusual. She normally only makes us take her out without doing anything about once a month, and generally only one time in any given day.
She led me to a few paper towels that she'd led Gemma to, as well, but Gemma had the same thought as my initial one: Somebody had left some food behind in the apartment complex, and Millie was desirous to eat it and become ill. (She loves eating things more if it's certain she'll become ill as a result.) But when the food moved slightly, I abandoned that line of thought and went in for a closer look.
It was a tiny baby bird that had fallen from a nest, and had been found by somebody else and placed on paper towels.
This happened late at night. The temperature was dropping and baby birds without even down feathers need to be kept somewhere in the neighborhood of 90 to 100 degrees, the sprinklers were about to come on, and there are about seven hundred feral cats in our apartment complex, although you'll only see two or three a night as Millie is QUITE skilled at intimidating them into staying well hidden.
After some debate, we took the little thing in. Honestly, we figured we'd just make it more comfortable while waiting for its time to pass. We had a slightly better idea of what it would need to make it through the night than most of our neighbors, and we just happened to have a jug of baby bird formula. (It claims to be good for all baby birds. I want to test that with a penguin chick.) Paddington sometimes still wants the comfort of being hand-fed warm slop, mostly because he enjoys the spectacular mess he can make from it.
We have a very nice space heater that we acquired for a similar reason a while back. It was going to keep Hoggle warm when we got him back from the vet, but he never did come home. Searching for space heaters in SoCal, by the way, is not so easy. The people who worked at the Lowe's couldn't find the ones they had in their own store.
Anyway, we got it warmed up with the heater we bought for Hoggle, and we fed it food we bought for Paddington. (There was a quick trip to the pharmacy because we had no syringes for the hand feeding, and you have to find a way to get the food past the wind pipe. For your future reference, syringes are next to baby medicines.) Mostly, Gemma fed it. She was quite good at getting the weak little thing to open up.
The first time we tried, it was mostly a disaster. I guess it worked a little, though, because when we tried fifteen minutes later, it had enough energy to get a decent amount down. The next time, it even seemed like a baby bird, it had so much energy. It was certainly doing much better than the poor limp thing we'd brought in.
We tapered its feedings off through the night since wild parent birds don't feed much at night, then started them up again in the morning.
Gemma found a wildlife rehab group in our area, and each person she called would have somebody slightly better to call. The chain went from rehab, to bird rehab, to song-bird person, to other song-bird rehab that wasn't already full, etc. Each time, we got one city further away. Finally, we found somebody in Covina who could take the little guy (or Little Guy, as Gemma was now calling it) in.
Gemma worried all during the drive that maybe something had gone wrong, maybe we'd messed up, etc. But really, her Little Guy was scheduled to perish alone in the cold sprinklers last night, and no matter what, he's better off for what we could do for him.
He had bruising all through his belly area from the fall, and he couldn't have been more than a few days old. He may have even just hatched, though we didn't see an egg tooth on him. There's very little chance that he'll make it, but he did get the best possible chance.
Anyway, here's a picture of the Little Guy. Godspeed on whatever journey you take next.
Yesterday was Paddington's Hatchday. He was exactly one year old. Millie, being the most-ever-so-considerate doggy-sister that a parrot ever had, decided to find Paddington the perfect hatchday gift: A baby brother.
So Millie made us walk her over and over last night, while refusing to actually do anything but sniff. That's pretty unusual. She normally only makes us take her out without doing anything about once a month, and generally only one time in any given day.
She led me to a few paper towels that she'd led Gemma to, as well, but Gemma had the same thought as my initial one: Somebody had left some food behind in the apartment complex, and Millie was desirous to eat it and become ill. (She loves eating things more if it's certain she'll become ill as a result.) But when the food moved slightly, I abandoned that line of thought and went in for a closer look.
It was a tiny baby bird that had fallen from a nest, and had been found by somebody else and placed on paper towels.
This happened late at night. The temperature was dropping and baby birds without even down feathers need to be kept somewhere in the neighborhood of 90 to 100 degrees, the sprinklers were about to come on, and there are about seven hundred feral cats in our apartment complex, although you'll only see two or three a night as Millie is QUITE skilled at intimidating them into staying well hidden.
After some debate, we took the little thing in. Honestly, we figured we'd just make it more comfortable while waiting for its time to pass. We had a slightly better idea of what it would need to make it through the night than most of our neighbors, and we just happened to have a jug of baby bird formula. (It claims to be good for all baby birds. I want to test that with a penguin chick.) Paddington sometimes still wants the comfort of being hand-fed warm slop, mostly because he enjoys the spectacular mess he can make from it.
We have a very nice space heater that we acquired for a similar reason a while back. It was going to keep Hoggle warm when we got him back from the vet, but he never did come home. Searching for space heaters in SoCal, by the way, is not so easy. The people who worked at the Lowe's couldn't find the ones they had in their own store.
Anyway, we got it warmed up with the heater we bought for Hoggle, and we fed it food we bought for Paddington. (There was a quick trip to the pharmacy because we had no syringes for the hand feeding, and you have to find a way to get the food past the wind pipe. For your future reference, syringes are next to baby medicines.) Mostly, Gemma fed it. She was quite good at getting the weak little thing to open up.
The first time we tried, it was mostly a disaster. I guess it worked a little, though, because when we tried fifteen minutes later, it had enough energy to get a decent amount down. The next time, it even seemed like a baby bird, it had so much energy. It was certainly doing much better than the poor limp thing we'd brought in.
We tapered its feedings off through the night since wild parent birds don't feed much at night, then started them up again in the morning.
Gemma found a wildlife rehab group in our area, and each person she called would have somebody slightly better to call. The chain went from rehab, to bird rehab, to song-bird person, to other song-bird rehab that wasn't already full, etc. Each time, we got one city further away. Finally, we found somebody in Covina who could take the little guy (or Little Guy, as Gemma was now calling it) in.
Gemma worried all during the drive that maybe something had gone wrong, maybe we'd messed up, etc. But really, her Little Guy was scheduled to perish alone in the cold sprinklers last night, and no matter what, he's better off for what we could do for him.
He had bruising all through his belly area from the fall, and he couldn't have been more than a few days old. He may have even just hatched, though we didn't see an egg tooth on him. There's very little chance that he'll make it, but he did get the best possible chance.
Anyway, here's a picture of the Little Guy. Godspeed on whatever journey you take next.