Following the pecking order

Photo taken by Jim Rider of the South Bend Tribune in Indiana.


Why did the ducklings cross the road?

In the case of this flock of Mallards, it's because their mother was leading the way. While the little ones struggled to clear the curb, she waited 20 minutes for a clear path across the busy street before heading over with her offspring safely in tow.

Proving that with a little perseverance, even roadblocks in life that seem concretely unsurmountable can be conquered.

A deerly held moment for flora and fawn-a

First, I have to apologize for the less-than-stellar photos, but it's worth it. Check out the treat I had tonight!

Two deer -- I presume a mom and baby -- stopped by for a snack of dandelions, clover and buttercups. They love the field that surrounds my home because it's completely indigenous, which to manicured lawn lovers might seem distastefully overgrown. But the indigenous vegetation feeds the flora and fauna (or in this case, fawna) that are native to the region. That alone makes it appealing to me. And the fact that I'm hopeless as a gardener doesn't hurt.

I couldn't risk walking outside to scare them, so you're looking through my windows. The little one came closer went he saw me watching him, gazing intently as if wondering what I was up to.




I didn't even notice this wormhole into the forest until I saw the deer disappear into it. There must be animal-shaped trails all over this place. I don't traipse through there because it's thorny, but these animals are designed to travel through brush.

A dolphin's tail tells the tale

Look closely at the bottom right corner of the photo to see the ball of fishing line trailing behind this poor dolphin. Note the resulting damage to her tail. In this shot, she waits for Larry to free her. Photo courtesy of Cheryl McClure.


This dolphin chose her rescuers well.

Larry McClure had been hanging off his boat's swim ladder treading water 30 miles into the Gulf of New Mexico when an indigenous resident of the seas came calling.

The Atlantic bottlenose dolphin circled the boat for 45 minutes before the retired United Airlines pilot and experienced diver figured out what she was angling for. A ball of monofilament -- more commonly known as fishing line -- had wound around her tail, and the rest of the ball still trailed behind it. The flukes on her dorsal fin were being shredded by the synthetic fiber, and parasites had started to take root in the decaying flesh.

"She came right up next to me and stopped," Larry told me when I was in Sarasota, Florida recently. "I really feel like she came to ask for my help. It had to be a hindrance to her ability to catch fish. Conceivably she might have starved to death."

The 1,400-pound creature depends on her tail to help her catch small fish and squid.

Larry was wearing full diving gear. He and his wife Cheryl have been diving for 15 years, and each have more than 500 dives under their belt. While Larry dove underwater and went to work on freeing the dolphin's tail, Cheryl -- a professional photographer -- captured the moment indelibly on film.

Larry held the tail with his left hand while he hung onto the swim ladder with his knees. With his right hand, he began to slowly unwind the fishing line from her tail. She didn't move and watched him work. As he got near to the end, the last bit was embedded. The dolphin began to get nervous as if she was in pain, and decided it was time to take off.

Larry grabbed hold and pulled as she swam away.

"I felt confident I got most of it off."

Dolphins are famous for showing curiosity towards humans who are in or near water, and have been known to rescue people. There are stories of dolphins using their bodies to bob injured divers close to the surface to save them from drowning.

This time, the people returned the favor.

Mowed down by progress

I watched in helpless horror as this poor deer kept trying to get up
and cross the road, despite her broken back legs.

Some days I'm scared to leave my house. But not because of agoraphobia.

It's the animals.

Everywhere I go, I find animals -- dumped, lost, frightened, injured. I regularly encounter horrific suffering that doesn't escape my mind once I leave the scene.

I'm not the only one who has this affliction for finding animals in trouble. Most of the rescuers I know report the same phenomenon.

It's gotten so I can't leave the house without a carload of rescue gear.

Today it was a deer who had been cut down by traffic. As I drove by, I spotted her lying marooned on the grassy center median of the busy freeway. She was crawling and trying to get up, but her disabled back legs kept failing her and knocking her back down again.

When I see an animal in trouble, all thoughts of personal safety evaporate.

I slammed on the brakes and hugged my car into the guardrail as the road's shoulder was rapidly disappearing. Just before it tapered off completely, I was able to lodge my car out of the path of traffic barreling at me from behind. The 5 Freeway is the main thoroughfare from Canada. All day, it rumbles with massive trucks.

As the vehicles rolled by, I tried to figure how I was going to travel the 500 feet or so backwards to get to her.

But first I fumbled with my cell phone and called 911.

With breaks in traffic coming in short bursts, I was able to back up close to the deer. I waited for my moment to shoot across, and drove my car onto the median.

I was careful to park a good distance away from her, because when I tried to get near, she struggled to get up and away, and back into the path of danger.

Like all wildlife, she was more scared of people than cars.

I stayed hidden behind my vehicle and watched her while I waited for the police to arrive. When the male and female officer got there, they kindly explained to me that there was nothing that could be done for a deer with broken legs.

I already knew that. All I wanted to know was when would this be over.

They got on their radio calling for wildlife rescuers to respond and perform the euthanasia.

But it didn't seem like they would be there fast enough. Again and again, she tried to get up and fell back onto the grass.

I begged them to shoot her and put her out of her misery, and they admitted that if they didn't get a rapid response, that's what they planned to do.

But not while I was there.

They wanted me to leave so they could stop traffic and do what needed to be done, without the tender eyes of the general public to witness it.

In rescue, there are cases that blur together, and those that stick out. The ones you don't forget haunt you because you couldn't do anything to help.

It doesn't matter that you did all you could.

Sometimes that's just not enough.

Catch and release

He was almost a cat's mouseful, but now he's free to roam the forest.


Recently I was telling you about all the mouse casualties I’ve been encountering around the house.

And then, when I least expect it, there comes an unexpected save.

I wandered into the bathroom a couple of mornings ago and immediately noticed something was amiss.

Little Carreen -- who spends her nights safely tucked into this room -- was sitting on the countertop watching me as I investigated. The fleecy brown blanket that feathers her wicker bed was in disarray, and bunched into itself.

I started to straighten out the blanket, surmising that she had decided the bed was a convenient litter box.

But when I pulled out the blanket to fluff it up, I was surprised to find a tiny field mouse bundled and trembling inside.

This pipsqueak was too small to have engineered a self-bundle. There was only one possible explanation.

Little C had her fun with the mouse, then put him safely away like a plaything in a toy box. She showed species-defying compassion.

I took him outside and sat him on the grass. He didn’t run away. I petted him a little and offered some soothing words, but he just sat there shaking, too terrified to leave my side. Finally after an hour I left him alone. When I came back 15 minutes later, he was gone.


I left Mr. Mouse a dollop of peanut butter. A snack for the road.

Hoo-hoo knew?

An owl checks me out from his perch.

Sometimes I power down all the modern sounds inside the house and just listen to nature playing outside. Without stereos, TVs, telephones, microwaves, and vacuum cleaners, I can hear a whole other world happening out there.

My favorite birds to listen to are the owls, who don’t just stop at a simple “hoo-hoo”. It always sounds to me like they’re chattering out a conversation.

Tonight the little birds were trilling so enthusiastically that it sounded like an aviary out there, and I swear I heard a husband and wife owl nagging at each other.

Back and forth they went for 20 minutes. One would call out, then there would be a short pause, and I would hear the other one respond from the opposite end of the forest. I guess commitment can be a challenge, even in the bird world.

To me, it sounded like their conversation went something like this:

“Get back here and clean out the nest. It’s a mess in here!”

“Why don’t you do it, I’ve been out hunting for food all day.”

“And what do you think I’ve been doing? Do you think the owlets are raising themselves? You come and pick up after yourself!”

I don’t think the husband gave a hoot.

These two almost became the deer-ly departed

The young deer I encountered have run back from the road and are contemplating their next move.


I was headed into a pristine snow-capped Pacific Northwest mountain range today when I came upon an accident waiting to happen.

I slammed on the brakes when I noticed two young deer shoving their noses through barbed wire looking very much like they wanted to jump the fence.

But it wasn't the barbed wire fence that foreshadowed danger.

It was the highway they were trying to cross.

Mount Baker Highway, a winding two-lane road leading out of Bellingham, is known for its two contradictory characteristics: beautiful scenery, and gruesome accidents.

The last time I traveled this route, it was barricaded because of a terrible accident. I took the wrong detour and came up a back road, only to find myself smack in the middle of a horrifying car crash scene. It was like something out of the evening news. Glass, twisted metal and blood were what I saw as I soaked up the sights of what was left from the three-car high-speed demolition derby.

This time, I thought it was going to be the deer who ended up as casualties of this twisted mountain highway

I stopped my car in the middle of the road and hit the flashers. I stepped out and motioned cars, trucks and semi-trailers to stop dead. To my surprise, they waited patiently.

When I get into an animal rescue situation, I try to anticipate how the animals will react. I stood a distance away, waiting to see what the deer would do next.

I didn't want to frighten them into the road. Nor did I want to drive them back if they preferred to cross. If they needed to get over, I wanted to be there to stop the cars that could potentially hit them.

The two deer eventually decided against crossing and ran away, taking flight through the field like two nimble Springboks. When I finally drove off, I still felt uneasy. I didn't know whether these deer had it in their minds that they needed to cross the road, or if it was just a whim.

I'll never know. But I do know this: they didn't die on my watch today.

And that will have to be enough.
























This deer was the one most determined to cross. I motioned traffic to pass slowly, and they did. He had trouble jumping the barbed wire fence.

This little bird is flying with the angels

Animal care manager Krista Unser examines a sparrow who had a head-on collision.


I chastise my cats for extinguishing the lives of tiny creatures. But yesterday, I was the one who caused a casualty.

I had just turned my car out of the driveway and started down the road when two birds flew straight into my path, dipping and swooping in an airborne ballet. Suddenly one bird changed direction and turned, diving straight into the center my windshield. I slammed on the brakes, but couldn't stop in time.

The bird bounced off the glass and dropped to the road. My car passed over her as I skidded to a stop. In my rear-view mirror, I could see the crumpled, lifeless brown lump lying there in the middle of the pavement.

Throwing the car into park, I ran out to retrieve the bird. She was still alive. I picked her up gently. Her body fit right into the cup of my hand. Her terrified eyes looked straight into mine. I cradled her and carried her back to the car, cooing softly.

I contemplated keeping her on my lap so I could tend to her, then quickly disregarded the fleeting thought. What if she was simply stunned because of shock? Chaos would ensue if she snapped out of it en route and decided to test her wings.

Instead, I placed her in a towel in a box kept in the back of the vehicle specifically for this purpose, and we headed to the shelter.

Krista Unser was on duty when we got to Whatcom Humane Society. She opened the box and took out the bird, but it was over for this little one. She was dead on arrival. Her neck had been broken.

Now that she was free from pain and stress, we could indulge our human curiosity and examine the bird more closely. We both looked her over, and even reached out to stroke her feathers a little. The chance to touch wildlife that usually won't let people come this close was too much for us to resist.

Krista knew a little bit about this bird, because the same species hangs out in her garden. She told me she was an English sparrow, and speculated that mating season might have been the true cause of her demise. The other bird who chased her into danger was probably a male hoping to mate with her, proving that love may be blind, but its force is capable of dropping you in mid-flight.

Waterlogged bison saved!

A herd of soggy bison is high and dry now, thanks to some kind help from local government officials.

When the plight of the 250 animals standing knee-deep in floodwaters hit the news, the municipality of Rockwood offered the Balmoral, Manitoba farmers a perfect solution: a nearby dead-end municipal road that's hardly used.

Rancher Len Epp was grateful for the offer, and got to work right away on his new makeshift corral. He used steel paneling to barricade both ends of the farm road so the bison wouldn't take off, and then dropped hay bales down to lure the gigantic beasts to their new stomping grounds.

Epp reports the bison are thrilled about their new road-worthy accommodations.

"They're going to be OK now," he said.

Library in the sky is a lookout post for animals

These burrowing owls in Florida are protected by laws that don't allow people to disturb their habitats, but other wildlife isn't so lucky.

The animal people that enchant me most are those whose love and protection goes beyond the interests of their own personal pets. They are the ones who see beauty and worth in all kinds of animals eking out an existence.

Yesterday I had occasion to catch up by phone with a friend from the past. Marj Jamieson was the head librarian at the Winnipeg Free Press when I was a young cub reporter there for a few years in the mid-1990s. Hanging out with Marj in the library was my favorite escape if I was having a rocky day.

Marj and I hadn't kept in touch since I'd left town, but the conversation soon picked up right where we'd left off -- about animals. She's a dedicated animal lover always looking out for creatures in trouble. Marj is 78 now and retired from the paper, but when she worked there, she kept her own lookout post for animals in the area. The building had been constructed in a new business park that was developing quickly, pushing wildlife from their homes in the process. Using binoculars, Marj would survey the surrounding industrial properties from her perch at the Free Press library's third-floor picture window.

If she witnessed a burrow being destroyed by men with shovels or heavy equipment, she'd be on the phone immediately to the offending business requesting that they halt the activity immediately. She'd inform them that those holes and tunnels belonged to wildlife.

One time when she called, the person who answered was startled as it became obvious Marj was watching the exterminators as she spoke.

"Where are you?" the employee demanded.

"I'm up here," Marj said, adding this explanation: "I'm God. And yes, I am a woman."

Jackrabbits, gophers, and foxes all benefitted from Marj's eagle eye.

She helped domesticated animals, too. At the newspaper's previous downtown location, she set up a trapping mission and nabbed six cats across the street from the paper on land that was hosting the Air Canada offices. The airline staff were caring and cooperative, she recalls. The cats convalesced and met with potential adopters in her backyard summerhouse.

"Any cat who was brave enough and smart enough to live at the corner of Portage and Carlton deserved a new life. We did find homes for all of them," Marj said.

Here's me with Panda, the dog who kept me company through childhood.

Dog fur spiffs up birds' cribs

My childhood dog was an Old English Sheepdog, and Marj Jamieson had one of the same breed named Humphrey when I worked at the paper. It wasn't long before we were sharing stories about our dogs again, this time about brushing their long, fine coats.

Grooming for these dogs must be done every couple of days. I recalled our dog Panda lying sacked out on her side as my mother brushed her while soap operas played on the television set in the background. One of the chores assigned to my brother and I was checking Panda daily for woodticks. We each took half a dog.

Marj also had brushing memories. She talked about grooming Humphrey on the deck. She'd sweep his hair from the brush periodically, setting the fur bundles down. She'd watch with glee as the Orioles swooped in and the squirrels raced over, snatching it to feather their nests.

"It was a race between the squirrels and the birds. What nests they must have built," Marj remembered fondly.

Like Marj, I'm always impressed when animals make use of materials discarded as trash by human beings. Their ingenuity is a natural survival skill that exemplifies the brilliance of nature. Animals find what they need in their natural environment without requiring fancy linens and fluffy pillows to satisfy them.

Once in a while, when the birds and squirrels were still waiting for more than Humphrey could deliver, Marj couldn't resist giving them a little extra insulation, and would set out a box of Kleenex.

A bird's eye view

The second little bird flew off when I pulled out my camera and started snapping photos. But she hovered nearby protecting the nest.

I was picking up my rental car at the Budget Fastbreak drop-off station near Los Angeles International Airport when I spotted two little birds tending to their nest in the rafters. I stopped and watched their activities for almost an hour. I wondered: what motivated them to pick such a high-traffic location to raise their precious babies?

I'm tempted to make a Budget -- or is it Budgie? -- joke. But I'll restrain myself.

Fly away home, Big Bird

Big Bird is back in flight following a near-death experience. Photo taken by Pat Maloney.

Rescuing animals has found its way into my heart for many reasons, not the least of which is a family matter.

There are dedicated animal lovers on both sides of my family -- parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles. One great-grandfather was even the state veterinarian for Zimbabwe back when it was still called Rhodesia. Relatives who were gone before I was born are posed in old photos holding beloved dogs and cats. Their animals were important enough to be included in the black and white shots long before digital cameras stored thousands of pictures with a few clicks of a button. Back then, setting up a photo was an ordeal.

But no family member loves animals with the passionate fervor of my mother. She carries cat food and a dog leash in her large purse in case she comes across strays. She’s trapped feral cats to spay and neuter, and reported dogs locked up in hot cars to the authorities.

And she doesn’t just help companion animals. She rescues wildlife facing danger, too. Near her place in Florida, she’s pulled her car to the side of the road to pick up wayward turtles and help them safely cross the road. She’s cordoned off burrowing owls so people won’t threaten them while they are vulnerable in their habitat, which consists of a shallow hole dug in the dirt. She even makes sure the runners on her windows are gecko-free before she shuts them to avert tragedy.

The latest recipient of her creature compassion is Big Bird, a great blue heron who had nearly met his demise by the time she spotted him. Poisoned and confused, he was flying “as if he had lost his GPS”, Diana Maloney said.

She quickly got in touch with a local rescue group who agreed to come right over and try to catch the bird. Diana was “absolutely gobstruck” watching Dan the Bird Man at work, and she writes about his techniques in her story below.

“He just dove on it,” she said. “At one point I looked away. I couldn’t bear to see. I was expecting to see a squished bird, but he actually dove onto his elbows and knees. You only get one shot at it.”

The situation was dire. He couldn’t miss. If he did, Big Bird wouldn’t survive one more night of a cold snap in usually sunny Sarasota. The temperature had dipped below freezing several nights in a row. Herons are skinny birds without much meat on their bones to begin with, and this one was significantly underweight.

But in an update I received today, I found out that Big Bird wasn’t fully cognizant of his near-death experience. He showed zero gratitude towards his captors, who helped save his life by warming him up in their toasty intensive care unit and nursing him back to health.

“The girl phoned me from the rescue center and said this is one pissed-off bird,” Diana said. “He is so mad. She went in with the fish, and he puffed out all his feathers and he put out his wings, and he charged her.”

Below, I've posted the story she wrote on the rescue.

Diana Maloney prepares to release the bird she rescued. Thanks to her quick thinking, he won't be getting his angel wings just yet.

We are privileged to look out over a fairly deserted beach. Deserted but for the wildlife that abounds there, both on the sand and in the water. Arriving home, I looked up and was horrified to see a beautiful great blue heron fly straight into our building. And then plummet to the ground. He stood up but didn't attempt to move. I went inside to observe "Big Bird" from the foyer. My fear that he was in trouble was confirmed when he staggered away, turned, and flew back into the building again.

A call to the Wildlife Center of Venice brought us the help we urgently needed in the form of Dan, a volunteer from Bradenton. I don't know exactly what we expected, maybe the use of a tranquilizer, but we were definitely not expecting what followed. On arrival, Dan quickly jumped out of his truck. We pointed out where Big Bird was hiding between some bushes and the property fence, with just his head showing. Dan ran back to his truck, grabbed a large net, attached the pole handle, and went into predator mode. Crouching low to the ground, out of sight of the bird, he scurried towards him like an animal hunting prey, poised to pounce. He made only one downward motion with the net. It covered and encircled the bird. He seemed to almost drop to his knees and elbows and cover the bird. By this time, Big Bird was squawking loudly and not happy.

When Dan emerged from the heap, Big Bird was safely tucked under his left arm and his right hand held the bird's neck just below the head. The net had done its work and lay on the ground. Before placing Big Bird in the rescue carrier, Dan carried out a deft cursory check for injuries. As he held the bird tucked under his left elbow, and held the head with his left hand, his right hand moved quickly over the top of the bird’s outstretched wing. And then the same procedure on the opposite side. No palpable injuries. He checked the eyes – membranes were all open, a good sign. A closed membrane could mean he had suffered a concussion.

But Big Bird was not acting normally, Dan told us, and so would need further examination by a vet.

Today, I was contacted by the rescue center. They believe this bird is less than a year old. Through a process of elimination, it appears that he may have botulism poisoning from ingesting dead or contaminated fish, or even cigarette butts. He is underweight, which indicates he may have left the nest too early and not yet be proficient in the art of hunting for food. His treatment will include flushing the toxins through his body repeatedly, maybe administering sub-cutaneous fluids, and possibly feeding him intravenously until he is well enough to be released back to this area.

Here’s a closing thought. Wouldn't it be great if instead of taking the youth of Sarasota on a hunting trip, as is happening this weekend, they were taught the art of capturing wildlife in the manner that Dan demonstrated? This skill could save a creature's life, rather than ending it.