Bird Rescuers Left to Fly Solo

Most of us, when we see an injured animal, want to help. Whether that means calling the experts or taking care of the injured creature ourselves, few people are able to sit by and do nothing while an animal suffers.

But if you find an injured bird, and decide you want to rehabilitate it, you are going to have a long, hard road in front of you. And if you’re Pati Mattrick, that road will end in a search warrant, with officials from the Game Commission showing up at your door to confiscate your ward.

Four years ago, Mattrick found a baby finch that had fallen from its nest during a storm. Two of its siblings were dead, but the little bird, who Mattrick named Stormygirl, was still hanging on. The wildlife rehabilitators she called gave the bird three days to live, but no more.

Mattrick was undeterred. She fed it, protected it, and loved the hatchling, and this past May, Stormygirl (later discovered to be a boy), celebrated his fourth birthday. The local news wrote a story about Mattrick’s unusual companion and its unusual habits, which include sleeping with a nightlight, perching on Mattrick’s glasses as she does chores, and stealing jewelry. A few days later, Mattrick was rewarded with a search warrant for her efforts. The bird was taken from her, and for over a month, she didn’t even know whether Stormygirl was alive (he was).

Was Mattrick in the wrong? It is against the law to make wild animals pets in Pennsylvania and many other states. But if you find an injured wild animal, and rehabilitators, veterinarians, and animal shelters can’t help you, what choice do you have?

In 2002, I was confronted with just that situation. A tiny bird crossed my path as I walked down First Avenue in New York City with a friend. We were in college, and looking for apartment furniture, and out of nowhere, this little thing hopped, off-balance, right in front of us, and hobbled into a liquor store a few feet away. The owners threatened to kill it, so we bought some liquor, emptied the box, and squirreled the bird away. We sojourned for hours trying to find someone — anyone — with the knowledge and ability to take care of it, but no one would, or could. Not New York City’s Center for Animal Care and Control, who informed me that they’d euthanize it, and not the Animal Medical Center, who told me they wouldn’t treat it.

The bird, you see, was a house sparrow — a non-native species — which meant that even though its legs were covered in tar and it couldn’t get off the ground, the sanctuaries, veterinarians, and rehabillitators I contacted couldn’t take it in.

So I did the only thing I felt I could — I spent my furniture money on bird paraphernalia, and took it back to my 400 square foot studio apartment. I called a reputable wild bird sanctuary and asked them for advice on how to take care of it, and they gave it to me. I kept mealworms in my fridge, cleaned bird poop off of my parquet floors, and dealt with the various and sundry inconveniences that living with a wild animal brings. And a couple of months later, the sparrow was healthy enough to be released, and everything I went through was worth it.

Wild animals should not be kept as pets — on that point, I’m sure we can all agree. But when faced with the choice to rescue an animal no one else can help, or leave it to die from the elements, I’d have to choose rescue. Each and every time.

Photo credit: pheanix300