Actually, two weeks, but that’s splitting hairs.
The OLC had a bird escape, for the first time in 25 years. I wasn’t there when it happened, so I don’t really know how it went down, but based on conversations with the handler, it sounds like there was a cascade of events. Any of the distinct scenarios, on its own, would not have been a problem. But put them together and it became a bad situation. The end result: a flighted owl flew away, and hasn’t been found. Hopefully, he’s figured out how to survive on his own and is living his best life (see Flaco, the Central Park Zoo’s escaped Eurasian eagle owl), because the other end of that spectrum is a catastrophe.
Any handler, with any level of experience, could experience this. The more experienced the handler, the less likely this particular result, but it needs to be understood that the chances of an escaped bird never go to zero. Wild, captive animals are still wild, still have wild instincts. No matter how well they’re trained or habituated, unexpected things happen. This particular bird had been in human care for about a year, was reasonably well habituated to his handlers, and was just starting to gain experience working on the glove for education.
That was two weekends ago, and over the first few days, the staff and a few volunteers went on a lot of wild goose chases at all hours of the day (and night).
I went from that situation to an “urgent” endoscopy (urgent because the clinic had been sitting on it for six weeks, and my doctor had called them), which was a delight, mostly because I wasn’t there (Propofol, FTW), but which left me with heartburn, a sore throat, and some tenderness around my jaw. (Did I mention that I am so glad I wasn’t there.)
And then, to add insult to injury, an endometrial biopsy the next day. That procedure is deeply unpleasant, even when performed by a good doctor doing all the right things (like my doctor). Y’all, the medical establishment has got to figure out how to do women’t health. This procedure involves threading sticks into your insides and scraping the lining of the uterus… without sedation or anesthesia. It doesn’t take that long, thankfully — less than ten minutes. (But word: the actual endoscopy procedure took 15 minutes.) I wouldn’t describe it as painful, per se (I’ve had abdominal cramps that were stop-you-in-your-tracks painful, and this was not that), but it was incredibly uncomfortable. There should be a better way to do this kind of thing, I think. I could live the rest of my life without repeating that procedure, and be happy. (Alas, that does not appear to be in the cards, but I don’t have to do it again for a while, at least…)
Do they biopsy men’s urethras without any kind of numbing? (That’s not a snarky question. I asked my husband for his thoughts, and he shut down the conversation because it was too awful for him to contemplate.)
So yeah, alien probes from both ends, after losing an owl. Thankfully I finished a big school assignment at the beginning of the year, I mean week, and so I had a bit of a breather before diving into the next big assignment, because the stress of alien probes is exhausting, not to mention the unpleasant physical impacts.
At least the results of both were pretty good: no cancer… at least not yet. There are things to work out, but the big, awful stuff has been ruled out, for the moment.
The year, I mean week, continued when fabulous-and-talented husband (technically not an OLC volunteer, but an incredibly good sport) and I picked up a substitute cleaning shift on Saturday, including coping beaks and talons on the hawks, changed out a set of cuffs and jesses for one of the hawks — she was not pleased with any of it, and installed jesses on a saw-whet owl, who, as you might imagine, was also not pleased. (We did this operation in a classroom, so if the bird had gotten away from us, we would have had to make sure he didn’t end up in a turtle tank.)
And this week, after doing some additional chores in the raptor sanctuary, including prepping for winter (closing the windows, turning on the supplemental heat for some of the birds, winding the hose onto a reel so it can live inside for the next several months), and some maintenance work (a project for our barn owl, and weighing three of the birds), I started training a new volunteer. She’s amazingly smart, and interested in all the animals (including the reptiles!), but it’s going to take her a minute to get used to working with food. That’s not too unusual; if you had told me, fifteen years ago, that I would be butchering small animals for other animals to eat, I would have laughed in your face. (Most of us don’t work with our food in that way, so everyone can be forgiven for needing some time to get used to the idea.)
I’m whipped. Lots of stress and sadness, and no small amount of physical work (with little creative or intellectual engagement), has me on my heels. I’m looking forward to being able to work on a school project (literature review: serious leisure, library programming and falconry) and some work in my sketchbook over the next few days…
… unless someone happens to see a wayward owl. (I have a new cardboard box in my car, welding gloves, and a towel. I’m ready.)
Carmen Yount 