SOUTH NEWFANE — Feb. 15, 2008: My neighbors, Fred B. and Laura, find a hurt barred owl on Route 30. It looks like the owl's broken a wing. They bring it to Ron Svec, a vet at the VT-NH Veterinary Clinic in Dummerston. Ron, who's been helping wild birds for over 20 years, takes an Xray of the owl's left wing. Its humerus is broken. But it's a clean break, and there's no sign of infection. Ron thinks he can fix the wing.
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Feb. 16. After his regular office hours, Ron operates on the owl. He gives the bird anesthesia and inserts a rod into the broken humerus. He secures it on the outside of the wing with a gel-like material, sutures up the owl's skin, and immobilizes the wing with a kind of sling. Then he calls Fred Homer.
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Feb. 17. Fred Homer collects the owl. Fred is a licensed wildlife rehabilitator, and like Ron, has been helping animals for more than 20 years. Ron says his success in healing birds of prey very much relies on Fred taking over after he operates. Ron and Fred make a good team. Fred takes the owl to his house to rest and mend. Once a day, by hand, Fred feeds the owl three mice, plus antibiotics. Fred watches the owl closely and is heartened to see it eat so well.
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Feb. 29. I visit the owl for the first time. It's in a small cage in the dark, quiet basement of Fred's house. Even in the darkness, I notice the owl's lovely brown and white barred pattern, its round eyes and yellow beak. I'm impressed with its quiet dignity.
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March 19. The wing has healed, and Ron operates again to remove the pin from the owl's bone and sutures from the wounds. The owl comes through fine and returns to Fred's. It's been five weeks since the bird was found.
In addition to this bird, Fred has been caring for three other owls, all of them found starving. If Fred gets a weak owl in time, he has pretty good success in fattening it up, and he usually releases it within a couple of weeks.
This winter, Fred helped many more owls than normal. The plethora of starving owls, Fred thinks, is due to an unusually good 2007 for rodents, which led to good spring egg clutches and thriving young owlets. But then a long winter arrived. Experts at the Vermont Institute of Natural Sciences say a thick crust of snow and a shortage of a favorite vole made hunting tough. Also, barred owls from territories farther north traveled south in search of food, increasing competition among already large populations here. Rehabilitators all over the region are busy.
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March 26. I visit the owl. Fred has moved it to a larger cage up in his barn. The owl eats on its own now, grabbing mice with its beak when Fred puts them in the cage. The owl can stretch that left wing but has lost a lot of muscle strength. I don't think it looks very alert.
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March 31. On this visit I see that Fred has moved the owl to one of two aviaries he has built in the barn. Each aviary is a roomy 10 x 12 feet, and contains windows, beautifully carved perches, and shelves. Very posh. Here, the owl can start to exercise a little. Fred places the mice on a shelf away from the owl's perch so it needs to fly to get food.
As I watch the owl, I wonder why we do it, why we bring hurt birds and other animals to the vets, nature centers, and rehabilitators to be given another chance. And I wonder why the vets and rehabilitators spend so much of their time helping. Is it simply because we don't want to see animals suffer?
Or is it more? A sense of responsibility? Guilt? Is it because we can help, when in so many other aspects of our lives, we can't?
Although Fred's been doing this a long time, he wonders too.
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April 10. I visit the owl, and I think it looks better. It clacks its beak aggressively at Fred when he walks over to it. Although Fred says he's honored to care for the owl, I don't think the owl feels the same way about him. The owl doesn't fly around much on its own, and Fred has to prod it to use its wings. But the wings look more balanced, the left one less droopy.
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April 13. Fred calls me this afternoon with good news. The owl is growing feistier and won't take food until he puts it on the floor and backs out of the aviary. Fred believes the owl is ready to be released. He says Tuesday will be the day - hooray!
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April 15. After almost 10 weeks of healing, Fred and I load the owl into a cardboard travel box and take it to the Newfane Elementary School, so the students there can see the owl and witness its release. Fred B. and Laura, the couple who found the owl, come too
At noon, we gather in the field outside the school, and Fred opens the box. He gives the owl to Laura, and she holds it carefully. She says it's very light. The children and faculty think the owl is beautiful. Laura lifts the owl into the air and lets go. We watch intently, full of hope. I realize hope is as light as this owl.
The owl flies 20 feet and lands on the field. It tries again, covering another 10 feet. It looks balanced as it flies, but not very strong. The owl tries once more, but doesn't get far. This time, it stays on the ground.
Fred apologizes to the crowd. One mother is crying. Her daughter consoles her. Another child asks if the owl will die now. Fred says no, that it just needs more time than he thought to heal.
The owl flaps and flops into the woods beyond the field. Fred catches it and returns it to the box. The school's principal thanks Fred, and the kids slowly return to their recess.
We are quiet on the way back to Fred's house. Fred doesn't want to feel he's failed, but somehow he does. In all the years he's done releases, this is only the third bird that has failed to fly. I begin to wonder if it's been worth the effort.
Ron's analysis of the release confirms what we believed: the owl simply isn't strong enough. After all those weeks of sitting around, its muscles have atrophied, much as ours would in the same situation. The owl, Ron says, needs physical therapy. PT for an owl? I ask. Yes!
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April 23. We pack up the owl and bring it to the Hogback Museum, about 20 minutes away, where Mike, a herpetologist, takes care of the museum's disabled hawks and owls, which are used for education. Mike is going to make and fit jesses (short leg straps) for the owl so Fred can begin an exercise program.
“Do you have a PT license as well?” I jokingly ask Fred on the way.
“No,” Fred sighs, “but I guess I'll learn.” This guy won't give up.
Unfortunately, Mike doesn't have all of the right tools, and after two hours of fooling around with kangaroo leather, we realize we'll have to return. On the way home, we feel frustrated. Once Fred gets the jesses, it's going to be at least another two weeks. Twice a day, Fred will fly the owl on a line tied to the jesses, making the bird work its wings.
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April 30. I call Fred, only to hear that Mike hasn't yet contacted him about the jesses. I'm beginning to worry about the owl's future.
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May 5. Fred calls and leaves a message on my answering machine. “The owl is gone,” he says.
I stare at the phone in disbelief. Fred had left the door to the aviary open a little while showing a visitor something else in the barn. The owl simply flew out. Just like that. No spectacular release in front of a crowd - not even a toss in the air at Fred's house. No ceremony at all.
At first I feel robbed. After all, I had loyally followed the bird's rehabilitation for months. I wanted to see this magnificent bird of prey open its wings and soar into the sky. But then I remember: an owl is silent, stealthy, and wise. Clearly, it offers much to teach us.
I smile, and feel relief and gladness - and abundant hope.