The Ocean's Little Angel
The kids wanted to look for a few more shells before we started home so I carried the gull with only his head poking out from the blue towel. Strangely, he remained calm. Other gulls soared above us in the salty sea wind, wings outstretched, sometimes dipping and hovering close to our heads, like hosts of heavenly angels. My gull turned his head up to watch, perhaps longing to rise into the wind with them. I wished I could lift him up and allow him to soar away but I knew he would never fly again.
Back at home that night, we placed him in a dog crate with a bowl of water and some dog food. He kept trying to climb into his water so I exchanged the small bowl for a larger one. Then we set about trying to locate a wildlife rehabilitator. An Internet search yielded several names and email addresses. I emailed every one of them. Finally one contact led to another and, by the next day, we had several phone numbers to call. One lady turned out to be out of town indefinitely, one man offered to put him to sleep and yet another didn't understand that we already had the bird and advised me to leave him where I found him and that another animal would get him. That would have been appalling advice from anyone but was even more so, coming from a wildlife sanctuary worker. I hung up the phone angrily and continued with my search.
In spite of his injury and stressful experience, our gull appeared strong. He ate a few kibbles of dog food and preened his white feathers. We would not give up on him. After more phone calls and referrals we, at last, located a rehabber about an hour and a half away who agreed to do what she could for him.
This lady immediately determined that the gull was thin and that the injury was at least several days old. She clipped away the dead part of the wing, cleaned
Latest Articles