LUCKY GARVIN: Phenomena

When Sabrina and I first began rehabbing as a team nearly twenty years ago, any reasonable person, asked the question: Will Lucky or Sabrina be the most competent at diagnostics and healing?

The logical answer was Lucky; at that time, I’d been a physician for over thirty years. But that answer omits the wildcard of God-given intuition to heal wildlife; Sabrina has that gift, I do not. She is a legend among rehabbers because she has made the choice to fully exploit that inheritance with study, application, and long hours practicing and learning her craft. Such is her talent, that there are several species of birds that rehabbers have sent to her since they themselves had little success healing these species; Sabrina does.

Rehabbing is expensive both in money and time. In terms of time, consider this: each day, baby birds must be fed every twenty minutes, twelve hours a day. A trip to Kroger, just down the road becomes a luxury. Phone calls? In the beginning, Sabrina averaged 40+ per day. [That’s just incoming; it doesn’t count the outgoing calls to other rehabbers, Animal Control, or return phone calls.] Then there’s the laundry: two loads each day from the animals alone. Between Sabrina and I, and our few volunteers, we now intake two thirds as many animals/birds as the Wildlife Center of Virginia, a fully-staffed agency and a nationally known wildlife hospital.

In the midst of all this, three phenomena are emerging:

1- The amazement and respect with which I watch Sabrina refine her art and intuition. For instance, it was she who began to question time-honored diets in young birds as being hurtful, sometimes fatal; diets which had been the accepted traditions of rehabbers for years. She made changes, and her ‘save rate’ soared.

2- Sabrina has a license to teach, so 14-20 times a year, she would take our ‘education birds’ – a hawk and owl rescued but too old or infirm to be released, they are unable to either hunt or evade. She carried those birds to schools, civic clubs and the like. She takes their ‘castings’ with her. Raptors – or meat-eating birds – ingest a meal, it sits in their stomach a while, then they regurgitate the indigestible parts in an egg-shaped mass. The children, some of whom have to adjust to an understandable repugnance, dissect these castings and find tiny bones, teeth, and so on. The letters of thanks she receives from the kids suggest a genuine fascination.

[Not long ago, a teacher who had invited Sabrina to do a presentation to her class a year ago, called Sabrina requesting another visit. The teacher called while standing in front of her class. When Sabrina assented, the teacher, in an aside to her students, said, “She’s coming back!” Sabrina said the students erupted in cheers so enthusiastically, she could easily hear it over the phone.]

Another phenomenon is this: what are the future effects of her instruction, how will the kids be so shaped in years to come? Chances are, we’ll never know. But it makes you wonder, will this experience usher them towards a life of veterinary medicine or vet-tech, to human medicine, or just an abiding love of wildlife, ecology or the environment?

3- Perhaps the most amazing of all, in the last two years, we have had young volunteers who have the gift, the instinct Sabrina has. Their gift is ‘in the raw’, so to speak, and wants shaping and direction. Sabrina is well acquainted with folks who volunteer, thinking this is, for them, a passion; it turns out to be mere novelty, or the desire for ‘bragging rights’ [I work with wildlife!], and they are soon gone. But Sabrina spends time teaching them all.

But, these special volunteers bring their instincts to Sabrina, and she becomes mentor to eager, motivated students.

It is my belief that the Creator works in obscurity – or anonymity – all around us. It is said no two snowflakes are the same, this since the beginning of time. We are told not only are no two zebras the same, but no two sides of a zebra is the same! Ditto night skies, daylight skies, and who knows how many other examples.

I know such examples are there for me and anyone else who chooses to partake in this pageantry; rewarding with beauty any eye or spirit or heart that seeks it. I see such splendid pictures of earth e-mailed me from time to time. One must ask: if God expends this much glory on Earth, what must Heaven be like?

I have long felt each of us is sent to Earth for a purpose, and that the ultimate quest – as well as the greatest blessing – is to discover that purpose; if you have a pulse, you have a purpose. It is the feeling – the joy – which accompanies passion that lets us know our search has been successful: go to bed thinking about it, dream about it, wake up in the morning eager to get back to it, whatever the passion might be.

My Sabrina is about her ultimate business. She gives her blessing, her gift, substance by working at it each day. And thus, when her time comes, she will repay her ‘ten talents’, with a great deal of interest …

Originally published on Roanoke Star‘s website.

SUNDAY MORNING

SUNDAY MORNING

On the Saturday before Mothers’ Day, I went to the Wildlife Center to see if I could round up some volunteers to staff the clinic so Sabrina would have a never-before-heard-of day off.

Most of our volunteers are women, and an amazing proportion of them are or have mothers; so, no luck. I showed up early Sunday morning so Sabrina could sleep in. I figured I and the few volunteers present could get through the morning chores and I could still get to church.

It was not to be…

As I was about to leave, a lady arrived with a nearly dead baby groundhog. She had found him motionless on her lawn that same morning. He was dripping wet, comatose, and as cold as ever a barely-alive being has ever been. He was so young – five weeks old- and so small – he easily fit in my hand.

I set about what seemed to be a hopeless task: trying to resuscitate this little one. Not only was he severely hypothermic, but dehydrated with a cat wound on his flank. He was covered with fleas; his wound crawled with maggots.

So I set to work, drying, warming, and stimulating. Then comb him free of his infestations, then sub-cutaneous fluids. Two hours; a lot of activity; many prayers for intervention.

I shall never know why certain of these little ones summon my heart and my spirit as they do; but clearly and without warning this became my sole and proper task, for this little one was ‘in my path.’ That I was supposed to be there – and nowhere else – could not have been more clear to me. For those two hours, he was the length and breadth of my universe. My entire existence shrank to the size of one desperately sick baby groundhog; there was nothing else above, below or beside. Also, there was this: Although frustratingly hard to explain, it seemed I was part of a harmony, a resonance with something which, odd to say, was inside me, yet beyond. I truly was taken to a plane so deep in me I wonder if I had left… me. It’s a wonderful, frightening [will he die?], transcendent place to be; there, all around you stands motionless.

Today he is thriving; re-united in a large cage with his two siblings. He chucks happily whenever he sees me. ‘Chucking’ is groundhog vernacular for ‘G’Day, Lucky! Grand to see you, old chap!’ Of course his two littermates also chuck although they don’t know me from Adam’s Woodchuck.

The minister who was to have guided our group’s discussion that Sunday is Stuart Revercomb. He is a truly spiritual man who is tolerant of the trudging steps of my religious skepticism. His wisdom bestows upon him the patience to give me the time I need to find my own. Lately, he has been trying to acquaint me with the concept of ‘The Holy Spirit.’ I expect he’ll have something to say about this intersection of paths, this little ground hog and me. Thinking about it, Stuart may well be right.

So, I missed church last Sunday, but I did not miss, it seems, Communion.

A Modern Day Lazarus

Found in Campbell County, Virginia in the middle of the road; hit by a car? Who knows?

The rufous-colored Eastern Screech Owl found his way to the Wildlife Center of Virginia. X-rays were needed to determine that the breaks were amenable to surgery – not all fractures are.  He was stabilized prior to radiographs. The images confirmed two fractures – the radius and ulna -, and also confirmed they were the type of breaks, when handled by experts in wildlife rehabilitative surgery, could fix by threading  a sewing needle-like pin through the middle of the bones.

He ‘died’ on the x-ray table…

But – an injection of epinephrine restored his vital signs. So, monitored and anesthetized, he went to surgery, where he, once again, went into cardiopulmonary arrest. Again, the epinephrine; again, his heart and lungs began to work.

He was, once again, alive!

Then in post-op, with the vet sitting close by, he arrested for the third time; there was no breathing! No heart muscle activity, no pumping of blood. The vet, Dr. Kristen Britton, exhausted by a long day of surgeries and diagnostics, shook her head sadly and called off all further efforts to restore life. Two shots of epinephrine were enough. The monitoring and breathing appliances were removed. She sat vigil with the little one until he passed. Dying can be bad enough, dying alone is worse; and her heart would have no part of it.

Just then, the little owl came back to life with full vital signs!

Days into his post-op period, he managed to pull out one of the pins inserted by the wildlife surgeon, and succeed in creating two additional breaks to his ulna; total: four.  Even had the vet been able to re-pin the forearm, the scarring from the breaks and the surgery would have forevermore denied him full flight.

But, he was alive and lively, and honestly, quite full of himself. The Wildlife Center called and asked Sabrina if she would take on the little guy. What a question! He was sent to Sabrina to be an education animal, to be used in programs at various civic clubs, church groups, scout organizations and the like, to live out the rest of his life with us. The little owl’s name is ‘Zombie’ – evidently because of his stubborn unwillingness to die.

But, there’s another side to this tale, a question, really, one which lends itself more to supposition than to solution: The vet had finished a long arduous day, and given the fact that she deals with wildlife every day, there was nothing especially unique in this case. You intake an animal, you diagnose, you treat the very best you can, but sometimes animals die. It’s a sad story, but not an original one.

Question: Her shift being over, why did this vet stay at work to look after this little one? Certainly a loving heart, and a compassion for her patients must have motivated her. But I ask again: Why this case? Those of us who try to heal, to alleviate suffering will sooner or later come to the realization that we participate only to a degree in its outcome. But it is now, has always been, and ever will be Heaven’s job to say when. When life is done.

I feel Heaven summons a heart – sometimes it’s inaudible, but heard nevertheless – or maybe it’s a nudging we cannot but barely feel that is offered us. And I believe Dr. Britton heard the whisper to stay with this little one; to be witness to this miracle; to this series of miracles –from his rescue to his near-death events. I rather expect, seeing her devotion, the Creator buffed His nails in pride.

The Driver

It was nearing Christmas this year; a hard-working Mexican-American family man was driving his fully-loaded semi along I-81 near Roanoke. His truck hadn’t felt right for the last 20 miles or so: sort of a dragging sensation. He was determined to pull off at the next truck stop. Suddenly he saw a hawk set on a collision course with his cab. The bird was in a power dive after prey. When raptors do this, they suspend their peripheral vision. Sure enough, the hawk smashed into the truck.

The drive pulled off onto the shoulder of the highway. As he did so, he noticed his brakes were spongy, no bite. Once securely off the road, he called his wife. “Yeah, I just hit this beautiful bird!” He looked out his rear-view. “He’s on his side! I think I kil…  No, wait! He’s standing up! Honey, I’ve got to get him. I know he’s dangerous to handle, I’ll take my jacket.” And that’s what he did. He wrapped the injured hawk in his jacket, securing him in the passenger’s seat.

He limped the two miles further to the way station, stopping the big rig with his emergency brake; his foot brakes were gone. He called us to come get the hawk; we did.

The mechanic rolled up an hour later, heard the driver’s description of the complaint, and immediately began checking out the braking system. He then approached the driver shaking his head in disbelief.

He turned and spoke to the driver. “Your brake shoes have been pushing on your rotor even when you’re not braking. Look, in order to drive, your brake shoes retract, they don’t touch anything, so you free-wheel. The dragging you felt? The brake shoes had come loose and were pushing on the rotor which is what they do when you want the truck to stop. This constant rubbing wore your rotor down to nothing.” The driver still appeared to be confused.

“You mean…?”

“Look,” the mechanic said, “Those rotors are eaten through; your brake is worn completely out. It doesn’t work at all. If you hadn’t stopped for that bird, well, you were never gonna stop again.”

The driver’s name was ‘Jesus.’

Poo of the Parkway

A woman, nick named ‘Poo, who had bought us li’l critters in the past was on the Blueridge Parkway coming home one afternoon. She saw an adolescent squirrel walking aimlessly in the area on the median line. Cars passed it by and one even straddled the juvenile. She pulled off onto the shoulder and moved towards him. He saw her, and ran directly to her. Young squirrels will do this; although counter-intuitive, they will run for help to a being they will soon avoid as an enemy. Little ‘Poo’ – as he was soon named, was ice cold.

She scooped him up in a cloth and arrived at our home. Sabrina rid Poo, the squirrel, of his fleas and began a cautious, graded diet due to his malnourished state.

Within days, his eyes took strength, his activity increased. Sabrina looked at his well-formed tail, his basic health and told him, “Your momma done good,” as all mommas – regardless of species – so often do.

Poo was pronounced healthy enough to join a small group of other squirrels looked over by a fellow rehabber. We hear Poo of the Parkway is doing quite well, thank you!

……………………..

Look for Lucky’s books locally and on-line: The Oath of Hippocrates; The Cotillion; A Journey Long Delayed; Sabonics; Campfire Tales

Divah the Beaver and the Blue Jay

My wife, Sabrina, has a new love, but I’m not jealous. He only weighs a thousand grams, has the worst over-bite I’ve ever seen, and is six to twelve weeks old. He is a beaver; Diva the Beavah to be precise.

He is the sole survivor of his scattered colony; their fate never known. He walked up to a human who bought him to us. When a wild critter walks or flies to you, it means one of two things: they’re tame, or in trouble and are coming to you for help.

Beavers are the second largest rodents in the world [the largest being the S. America Capybara, which frequently exceeds 100 pounds in weight.] They are principally nocturnal, can remain submerged for up to fifteen minutes, dam creeks to create a pond which, in effect, serves as a protective moat within which they build their ‘lodge’, or home-place. They chew down trees, of course, for food and construction material, and when the tree is too large to drag over land, they cut channels to float them to the pond. When alarmed, they slap their tails on the water as a form of ‘first-alert’ for the rest of the colony; this slap can be heard above and below water. They mate for life, have webbed rear feet for propulsion, live an average of 24 years, and weigh, on average 55 pounds. They seal their lodges with mud in early winter so it freezes rock-hard to defend against predators. Beavers’ numbers are declining since America’s early days because of the market for their fur and their glands of which some medicines and perfumes are made. Can you imagine smelling a perfume made from beaver glands? The urge to go swimming or gnaw down a tree must be irresistible!

Beavers are a ‘Keystone Species’ meaning that they set the tone for, and are critical to, the ecological realm they inhabit. In other words, if an area which had beavers loses them, the bioclime becomes imperiled, chaotic.

The other thing, which bears heavily on this tale: the youngest beavers are catered to by parents and older siblings. “You want it, you got it!” seems to be embroidered on the doilies in the lodge. This showed up in our little one’s behavior. He was imperious, demanding and whiney. But, beaver are very social; in fact, we were told by rehabbers who specialize in beavers, they are one of the few species that rehabbers should cuddle. [Usually, that’s a no-no.] Diva the Beavah was imperious, spoiled, even to the point of slapping our hands if we didn’t bring him what he wanted.

After eating, we would take him out to a two-foot deep tub for him to swim. Not surprisingly, he seemed to take to this eagerly. Then he began to dive, a milestone for baby beavers; but, he never stopped whining when he wanted something. It was Sabrina’s job to figure out just what that something was, a difficult task in that my lady doesn’t speak ‘Beaver.”

During his stay, we in-took an adolescent Blue Jay. Blue Jays are member of the Corvid family. Along with Parrots, Corvids are said to be among the world’s most intelligent birds, as well as being capable of diverse vocalizations and mimicry. This little one studied intently, and soon made a connection between the following: That strange little thing with the funny feathers, big teeth, and two too many feet, makes a certain noise. Next, after the noise, people go to him with something he eats, and he doesn’t make that noise anymore. Sooo, the Blue Jay began a perfect mimicry of the beaver’s call, so artful, in fact, that our volunteers, hearing the call, had to look between the two of them to decide who made the call! For the length of time he was with us, the Blue Jay continued this most successful summoning of food.

Nevertheless, beavers are social creatures, and we had no other to pair him with. The call went out. We found a woman who rehabbed beavers, and who happened to have one. We sent Divah on. My Sabrina was very teary-eyed at the separation. I watched her, and knew something else was at play here beyond merely sending off the enfant terrible. . Then it came to me: When the beaver whined, it sounded eerily like an infant crying. Maternal instinct; giving up your baby, it was so hard on her.

The good news is we heard that Divah has been successfully introduced to the other beaver and the two are getting on famously, though I must wonder if the other beaver had any idea what was coming his way! Wha! Wha!

Their story, 48 hours later

Arriving home, a man realized he had left his dog out in the fenced yard all day, something he never did. The dog had caught a woodchuck and the ground hog was in shock. Feeling really bad for the woodchuck he called and found a wildlife intern Elena. The student took the woodchuck in, noted the shock and called a vet at the Wildlife Center of Virginia, but they were three hours away and referred her to us.

The woodchuck arrived early the next day. The fur was still matted with dog saliva. We quickly checked her trying to avoid further stress. No breaks were palpated but I noted she was a female. My heart sank. Do I try to hydrate and send her back out knowing she might have “kits” or “pups” in her burrow since it is baby season. The kits would be getting cold and hungry without her. Being a rehabber is not easy. We make multiple hard decisions every day. Past experience has taught me that caught by dogs victims are bitten hard and shaken thus bruising and internal damage. She began to show some attitude, a good indication, but gut instincts said I should keep her for observation. Minimal damage would be bruising and muscular pain. Was I right?

I placed her in a cage, covering it to help alleviate her stress. Wild adult animals need dark and quiet areas for them to feel safe when they are rescued. I filled her cage with native greens, vegetables, and water. Periodic checks showed she was eating but not acting aggressive or alarmed when I checked on her which concerned me. Keeping her comfortable and calm was the plan, hoping to see her more active after resting. During evening rounds I discovered she had just given birth. I immediately felt a pang of guilt; I had made the decision to keep her. Wild animals, especially adults are stressed from the capture, attack and being in captivity. Many times in these circumstances animals abandon their young.

Her kit was stillborn. Was it from the dog attack, captivity, I will never know. Again, I wondered if there were other babies left behind in the den. I had to push that thought out of my mind. I noted she was not eating anymore and concerned by my limitations, I made arrangements for transport to WCV early the next morning. I arose early in order to meet the transporter at the interstate 30 minutes away. I ran

back to the rehab room and peeped in to check on her, only to be shocked. Three more babies had been delivered and lay scattered in the bottom of the cage. Gloving up, I reached in, one was dead and two were ice cold and struggling. Mom never braced to protect them, making me think she was still birthing. I gathered the three and placed the two surviving neonates in an incubator. Well, we are 48 hours into their life. My husband, Lucky is helping feed them every two hours 24 hours a day, our spring interns have not arrived. We keep colostrum in the freezer for these rare occasions and we added it to their formula. Will they make it? We know their chances are slim. Newborns mammals need colostrum from their mother the first few hours or days, providing essential antibodies and flora for the GI tact. We have additives but will it be enough? I do not know. I know the mother stayed alive long enough to deliver her pups, only to pass away afterwards. Her death affected us both. We are providing these babies with everything in our rehab arsenal that is possible to help them survive; “failure to thrive” is what we see at this young age. Hopefully this story will not end soon but will have a wonderful outcome.

In the rehab and rescue community, it is proven that care givers burn out due to how we deal with our rescue efforts. We can easily remember the sad and difficult cases, but ask us about the cases we save and it takes us much longer to recall. Daily, I realize that I do this to myself and try not to dwell on the heart wrenching cases. I understand that this replicates a ½ glass empty versus full phenomenon, but I am committed to saving the weak and orphaned. Therefore, it hurts to so much to lose this battle but this is the reality of being a rehabber.

Sabrina and Lucky Garvin

Looking for more of Dr. Lucky Garvin’s stories?

Dr. Lucky Garvin weaves his experiences and observations of animals into informative and quite often humorous short stories.  He contributes to the Roanoke Times and the Roanoke Star-Sentinel, and is also author of three novels.

For more of Lucky’s stories, visit http://theroanokestar.com/  and search “Garvin” or visit http://www.luckygarvin.com/stories.html.

Also check out The Oath of Hippocrates (medical stories from 40 years of practice); A Journey Long Delayed  (the best bounty hunter in the West wants change, but finds many obstacles in his way); and The Cotillian (a tense contemporary thriller).  All stories are available through Barnes and Noble; You can check out The Oath of Hippocrates from local libraries as well.