One of the more memorable experiences I've had with a wild animal was probably a couple of weeks ago; when I agreed to house-sit for my friend Jan. A dedicated wildlife rehabilitator and one of the directors for the Wildlife Rehabilitation Society of Saskatchewan (WRSOS), Jan devotes her precious time and energy into caring for the sick and orphaned wildlife that (inevitably) arrive on her doorstep every spring season. I was eager to provide Jan some reprieve from the incessant chirping, quacking, and screeching that had overtaken her basement; and allow her some time off for a vacation she so rightly deserved!
Most people aren't aware of the time commitment and energy required to succesfully care for young wildlife species. While I had worked at a wildlife rehabilitation centre (The Owl Foundation in Vineland Station, St. Catharines Ontario); my hours of work were strictly from 9-5 Monday through Friday (give or take a few minutes). Even then- we were fortunate to house resident owls who acted as "foster parents", helping us care for otherwise healthy but "orphaned" young owls (and when I say "orphaned" I mean so in the loosest sense- you do have the occasional, well-meaning idiot who takes an owlet from the wild trying to make it a pet). When Jan left for her vacation in the afternoon on Friday; I was the sole mother of three young robins, five unidentified nestling birds (most likely sparrows), and three ducklings. The robins and "sparrows" required feeding every half hour; and the ducklings required feeding and cleaning every four hours...needless to say after the first couple of hours playing "step-mom" to these little ones I was feelin quite overwhelmed!
Come Saturday afternoon, I received the phone call that would introduce me to my first ever raccoon experience: "Hi there- we have an orphaned raccooon...can we bring it over?". Most people upon seeing a baby animal alone leap in to over-maternal mode and, while well-meaning; essentially "kidnap" baby while mom is kicking around somewhere in the general vicinity (understandably- out of view from prospective predators like us). With fingers crossed, I asked the critical question "are you SURE he's abandoned? Have you observed him/her for awhile to make sure mom isn't hiding around somewhere?". The answer that came back was affirmative: the little raccoon was currently wandering around a cafe parking lot; crying blindly while an adult raccoon carcass (assumed to be the mother) lay nearby. Sounding a lot calmer than I actually was; I asked the raccoon be dropped off at the University's veterinary college; and (still on the verge of panic mode) asked one of Jan's volunteers to pick up the little guy on her way over.
After hanging up the phone I immediately dialed Jan for instructions on how to deal with a (very) non-avian species. I raced around the house tornado style- throwing blankets, boxes, tape, a weighing scale, reference materials/binders, a bottle of dewormer (plus syringe) and a heating pad into my "raccoon pile" section of the table- all the while trying to make notes on proper feeding/handling/de-worming/stimulating techniques (an interesting tidbit: baby raccoons don't defecate/urinate on their own...you need to rub a wet towel in their special area to keep it flowing otherwise they can become sick). It took over an hour to prepare everything; the sad part being the collection of materials took only 10 minutes (the rest of the 50 minutes was dedicated to opening a tub of raccoon baby formula- which I'm convinced- was contained in a canister that was must have been super-glued shut).
When Sharon pulled in with the little coon; I heard rather than saw the little one. For anyone who's never heard a baby raccoon cry before; it's something between a wail, a screech, and something almost Jurassic-park like. If you haven't had the joy of listening to a baby raccoon, this is what I had to listen to for the first good...five or six hours after his arrival (if you want the full effect- put your speakers on as high as you can!):
Crying Baby Raccoon
In addition to the incessant screaming, the sound of scratching from nails on cardboard was also audible, as well as a constant thud-thud-thud from the constant pacing. For all the noise that was being emmitted from the box; I half-expected a full-grown raccoon to jump out. Imagine my surprise when upon lifting the lids of the box; I find a face like this looking at me (without the tree branch):
Inside the box was a little 6-8 week old raccoon kit (whom his rescuers had dubbed "Shadow")- absolute tiny and weighing in at just over half a kilogram. Despite the emotional trauma that Shadow must have faced in the last 5 hours or so before arriving, he put up quite a fight while me/Sharon attempted to perform an initial exam. He made numerous leaps out of the ice-cream tub we had put him in to weigh him (once- almost succesfully escaping to the carpeted floor 3 feet below); and attempting to scurry away multiple times (though his little tiny legs probably wouldn't have taken him more than a couple of feet). Throughout the entire ordeal he screamed and struggled constantly; and it wasn't until I scruffed him (more accidentally than anything else as we avoided yet another near encounter with the floor) that the purring started. Ah- right; scruffing = you've been bad in dog world; in raccoon it apparently translates into "Yay! My mommy's carrying me again- everything will be alright!".
Thinking back- I often laugh at what I must have looked like in my attempts to control and restrain Shadow. Had anyone come down within that first hour; they would have observed a small 5'4 asian girl, apparently locked in combat with a significantly smaller raccoon (even sadder still- who would appear to be winning). For all the fight I had endured in the past hour- I was apprehensive about actually bottle feeding Shadow. Not all baby mammals take to the bottle immediately- and especially in Shadow's case where he hadn't had any fluids for a good couple of hours; it was vital that he get something (if anything) in his system. Thankfully- it took only a second prod with the bottle nipple into his mouth before he got the point. And did he go! Not only did he suckle the bottle completely dry; but on that first feeding he learned by putting both of his little hands on the bottle that he could bring it closer to himself (this would be a consistent trend- over the next five feedings before Jan returned he always put both hands on the bottle).
After that first initial feeding- things got much better (though I suppose- it depends on your point of view). On the positive- Shadow had much more energy and was defecating (yes- poop is disgusting; but essential...hence us animal people get excited when it happens!). On the negative, along with that energy came more screaming, tiny-raccoon destruction, and all the more monitoring as a result. Destructive how you ask? Due to the fear of the roundworm known as Baylisascaris procyonis (an incredibly infectious roundworm, so resilient that the recomended method to kill eggs is to blow-torch them) - the most affordable option available to us for housing raccoons until they were dewormed was cardboard boxes (blow-torching plastic kennels probably isn't the most viable option). Unfortunately, newly re-energized baby raccoon and feeble cardboard box don't necessarily mix. In the span of less than 24 hours since his arrival- Shadow somehow managed to discard and go through three utility (i.e., TOUGH) cardboard boxes. The first time- I was next to the his box busy feeding the robins. I heard some scratching and soft purring (typical sounds I was used to from Shadow at this point); and it wasn't until the noises stopped I took a brief second to glance at the box. Looking back at me; with his face squished and one arm wedged between the box flaps (now bent in half); was Shadow. "Okay" I reasoned- "I'll weigh down the flaps and block the light for the box, hopefully that'll deter him from trying/make him go to sleep" (I can tell already tell that any wildlife rehabilitator and/or wildlife person reading this idea is probably laughing up a storm). Obviously- the plan failed. This time when I came down a couple of hours later not only did I find Shadow wedged in the now familiar squished-head-one-arm position between the flaps; this was very quickly accompanied by a soft whoosh as the glove, scale, and blanket I had used as weights crashed inwards on the box and onto the poor baby raccoon (who was fine if otherwise stunned). While it took two boxes I finally learned the third time- I went for a box that was too tall for Shadow to reach with his front paws (though I suffered dearly as Shadow made it VERY clear he did not appreciate my stifling his escape attempts!)
Overall (and I've told this to multiple people)- I feel lucky that Shadow was my first raccoon. Heaven forbid I would have gotten an adult (which I've heard- can be downright nasty and probably would've turned me off from raccoons forever)- but apart from the screaming and mischeviousness on Shadow's part; I'm just glad the bottle feeding (and yes- pooping process) went off as smoothly as it did! I hope Shadow's doing well- and maybe one day I'll be able to see him again as a wild animal on the Saskatchewan plain :)
