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| Great Horned Owl - photo from Wikipedia page |
A
stealthy rustle of feathers, a sudden gust of wind and the
sharp-taloned predator cruised over the dark water. Scrambling for
safety fat ducks and geese squawked in alarm, knocking over food
dishes as they dove under nesting platforms.
Then a miracle
happened! The predator was stopped mid-air, entangled in the mesh
netting strung above their pond.
Frightened
and angry the birds kept up the cacophony of sounds, screaming and
shrieking at their helpless tormentor. A light snapped on in the
nearby farm house and a slender woman sleepily stumbled outside to
investigate the noise.
“Hey
guys, what's going on?” she mumbled. “What's all the racket
about?”
“Dispatch,
this is Kilo Three-Two-Five, on air,” I reported. We were
responding to a call from the emergency central dispatch based in
Vancouver BC. We were part-time ambulance attendants and volunteer
firefighters living in a rural community, just twenty minutes away
from the metropolis of the Greater Vancouver Regional District.
“Kilo
Three-Two-Five, this is dispatch,” the male disembodied voice came
over the radio. “We have a report of a woman in need of
assistance, please report to the following address,” he said
reciting a descriptive address for a rural location. Lawrie activated
the lights and sirens, and we headed out to a somewhat ambiguous call
of a woman requiring assistance. What exactly were we headed into,
we wondered.
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| Eight of these stuck into a woman's arm |
Arriving
at a small farm we were greeted by the patient's sister who said,
“She over there, beside the duck pond. She has a huge owl attached
to her arm!” We hustled over to the woman who lay shivering on the
damp ground. She had a very large and very agitated Great Horned Owl
firmly clasping her forearm. Every time she tried to shift
positions, to ease her pain, he responded by digging the sharp talons
deeper into her arm.
Lawrie
grabbed a blanket from the ambulance and gently placed it over the
woman as she explained how she ended up in this strange situation.
She had heard loud and furious squawking from her assorted ducks and
geese in the wee hours of the morning. Investigating she discovered
that a large owl had become entangled in the protective mess that she
had placed over the pond as a deterrent to winged-predators. Not
wanting to harm the beautiful bird she thoughtfully tried to untangle
his wings, only to find the bird instinctively reached for a perch to
rest while she worked to free him. Her left forearm became the
perch, and she was unable to dislodge the owl. In cold and in pain
she sat on the ground, eventually laying down to ease the weight of
the bird on her arm. Mid-morning her sister, who also lived on the
island, had arrived to share a chat and a cup of coffee. The
emergency dispatcher was notified, and we were sent out on the call.
__________________
I
jogged back to the ambulance and keyed the two-way radio: “Dispatch,
this is Kilo Three-Two-Five.”
“Go
ahead, Three-Two-Five.”
“Dispatch,
we have an owl attached to the arm of a woman, and can't get it
free.”
Silence.
And then, “Three-Two-Five, cut the legs off the owl.”
Silence
at my end while I tamped down my laughter and considered what to say
on the open channel, “Ah, Dispatch, the owl might not like that.”
More
silence, “Then cut the arm off the patient.”
“Ah,
Dispatch, the patient might not like that either.”
“Standby,
Three-Two-Five, while we call the zoo for advice.”
Five
minutes later the dispatcher returned to the radio channel.
“Three-Two-Five the bird specialists advise using ether on the owl
to sedate it. Then it'll release its talons.”
That's
just great. Ether. Where the heck were we going to get ether? We
lived in an island community, without any medical facilities except
the ambulance service. When I jogged back to where Lawrie was
attending the patient, and her feathered friend, I told him what the
dispatcher suggested. He thought for a second or two, and said,
“engine starting fluid has ether. Send someone to the gas station
for a can.”
Ten
long minutes later and another attendant drove up to the farm with a
can of starting fluid. Lawrie sprayed a small amount on a gauze pad
and held it over the beak of the owl. Seconds passed – and
suddenly the owl released his talons and flopped over backwards onto
the ground. Unconscious! Lawrie helped the woman up, and bandaged
her arm.
“No,
no. I'm fine,” she insisted, “help the owl!”
“Uh,
we're ambulance attendants,” he responded, a bit perplexed at her
request, “not vets. You need medical attention.”
“I'm
fine, really, and my sister is here. She'll make sure I'm okay.
Now, please, help the owl.”
We
looked at each other knowing it was pointless to argue. When a
patient refused service, we couldn't force the issue.
“At
the very least you need a tetanus shot.” Lawrie said, as he had
her sign the form declining assistance, then helped her to walk to
the house.
In
the meantime I grabbed a blanket out of the ambulance and the two of
us secured the unconscious predator, snugly wrapping its wings and
talons. Carrying the bundled up owl, Lawrie climbed into the back of
the ambulance, and I hopped into the driver's seat. We set off for
the grocery store, hoping to find a large cardboard box to contain
the owl until we could someone to take it off our hands.
“Uh,
Lyn, can you drive a bit faster? This guy is coming around.”
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| Beautiful boy - disorientated and spaced out on ether. |
I
glanced back at Lawrie. He was nose to beak with a crossed-eye bird.
The owl's eyes swiveled back and forth as he tried to make sense of
what had happened. “Sure. Hang on.” I chuckled, as I pushed down
harder on the gas pedal.
Parking
the ambulance a bit carelessly at the door to the grocery store, I
ran inside. “A big box, I need a big cardboard box. Quickly.”
The clerk found one, handing it over with a questioning smile.
“Why?” But I was already out the door and headed back to the
ambulance.
After
we had secured the bird in the box, we returned to the fire hall with
the vehicle. We restocked the ambulance supplies, signed out, and
headed home with our new friend. Sitting the large box down in our
laundry area, Lawrie opened the flaps. The disoriented bird
fluttered his now free wings, and perched on the edge of the box –
staring at us in confusion. “Who are you? And where am I?”
We
quickly slipped out of the room, closing the door securely behind us.
Now what?
Fortunately
for us one of the volunteer firefighters who lived on the island, and
worked full-time in the city, was a bird specialist for raptors. We
left a message on his answering machine explaining the situation,
asking him to call us when he got home from work. Later in the
evening both he and his wife showed up at our house with their
supplies and a cage for the bird. He offered a leather protected arm to the owl, and then expertly slipped a leather
hood over the bird's head, before
sliding him into the cage.
A
few weeks later after the Great Horned Owl had fully recuperated from
his misadventure at the farm he was released. We were sworn to
secrecy all those years ago. “Don't tell her we have to release
this guy back in his home range. The duck pond!”
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| Raptor bird specialist - extends a leather covered arm |
Somehow
I think the Winged-Terror had had enough of a seemingly free duck
lunch. We never had the pleasure of providing emergency aid to him
again, and the woman recovered very well except for the eight small
scars where the owl's talons had punctured her arm.
