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Saving All Creatures Great and Small by Jennifer Ponte Canning
I
t takes a special person to become a licensed wildlife rehabilitator. They are the field medics in humanity’s war on the natural world, taking in wild animals who have been injured, poisoned, orphaned or displaced by human activity. They often work out of their homes and are on call around the clock. Vacations and even downtime are rarely a reality. They are not compensated for their work, relying on donations and grants to fund their life-saving efforts. And, all too often, those efforts are for naught. Yet it is the success stories that keep them going.
“We work desperately to save them all, but in many cases, it is not possible,” says Cristine Cummings, who co-founded the Killingworth-based raptor rescue A Place Called Hope in 2005. “The majority of cases we admit are so badly injured, we can’t put them through trying. But for those who have a chance at recovery, we dedicate our efforts.” For many rehabbers, the inclination to help wild animals began in childhood. When she was 10 years old, Dara Reid discovered a baby field mouse taking shelter in her mother’s sock drawer. She cared for the mouse until it could survive 32
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on its own, eventually returning him to his natural habitat. This inspired her to study veterinary medicine, then wildlife biology, and by age 23, Reid had founded Wildlife in Crisis. That was in 1988. Thirty-two years later, the secluded Weston-based clinic is by far the most robust in Connecticut, answering 20,000 calls and taking in more than 5,000 wild animals each year—with the goal of healing and releasing every last one. “I have always had a passion and empathy for animals. Their vulnerability has always stood out to me,” Reid says. “As I matured, I realized that local wildlife needed a voice and a sanctuary.” Nadia McCartney was also about 10 years old when she found a baby jackrabbit with a broken leg. She made a splint for it using a twig, then raised the rabbit until it was ready to be released. The rewarding experience made a lifelong impact on her. Today she runs Helping Hands for Wildlife, a nonprofit group in Woodbury that is licensed to rehabilitate rabies vector species (RVS) such as raccoons, foxes and skunks, as well as other mammals. “Although everyone told me not to hold out hope because [the jackrabbit] was wild and probably would die, I realized that these animals are much stronger than people believe,” McCartney recalls. “It’s
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worth trying to help them. I hate when people say, ‘Let nature take its course.’” “As a biologist, I am a firm believer in letting nature take its course,” stresses Reid, “but there is nothing natural about being hit by a car, entangled in fishing line, poisoned by pesticides or wounded by a domestic cat.” Indeed, in 98% of cases, it’s not nature taking its course when a wild animal is sick or hurt, but rather falls on people disrupting the natural course of life. Vehicle strikes are the most common hazard, but there are plenty of others: poisoning by rodenticides, pesticides, herbicides, lead fishing tackle and spent ammunition; window collisions (for birds); garbage entanglements; domestic pet attacks; and habitat destruction, such as the cutting down of dead trees that house the nests of squirrels, raccoons and birds. Then there is intentional harm by humans. “People will shoot a bird of prey if they fear it may hunt their chickens, pigeons, rabbits, even children,” says Cummings. “Who was it that said, ‘humans fear what they do not understand?’” A Place Called Hope is currently focused on aiding birds of prey that are suffering from secondary rodenticide poisoning; rodents and small birds often ingest the toxins, then are consumed by
