It's Always Something

It’s always something in my family.

Growing up we seemed to take in animals.  I don’t mean dogs and cats.  I mean wildlife.  We raised an abandoned skunk, Tinker, for many years.  We had a raccoon named Mandy for her entire lifetime.  I cared for a chimney swallow when I was in grade four.  My friend Russell (who also had a raccoon) and I would collect salamanders and turtles from the swamp.  We were adventurers for sure!

As the years went on, my parents were trained raccoon rehab-ers and nursed many back to health.  While others were vocal opponents to their compassion, they are steadfast caregivers.

While out and about today, I was returning to my car after covering a news story for the paper when I heard a strange, almost haunting cry.  This was no baby.  I was walking past the local bar when I heard mention of a young fawn being located.  On the patio of the bar was a very committed man giving his all to protecting this young deer from further harm (it had cut it’s head bouncing off a fence).  No one seemed to know what to do so a call was made to the Aylmer Police.  “What do you want us to do about it?” was their community minded response.  The Ministry of Natural Resources calls continually went to voice mail.  Two calls were made to a vets offices before two citizens were able to secure the fawn’s flailing legs and transport him to the animal hospital.

I was talking to my mom later in the evening who wanted to hear more about the deer incident since I called her in the midst of it all to get the phone number for a wildlife vet.  She explained that she had come across an apparent injured chipmunk earlier in the day.  Through the usual committed care of this little chippy, it reportedly came around and was released again.  Mom says to me, “It’s always been something.  Chipmunks, birds, raccoons.  Something.”

Within a half hour of the end of our call, my daughter Brianna and her friend Grace came running back from a short walk saying “We need a container!  We found a bird with a broken wing!”  We enlisted my son’s help.  Jordan went to get his old bird cage.  Dennielle, my wife, went with the girls and off they went to conduct another wildlife rescue.

When they came back, Dennielle, my wife, said that Mrs. Robin was in distress watching her baby seemingly injured.  Baby robin was on it’s back and unable to get back on it’s feet.  I don’t know if it’s wing was broken, but off it hopped into someone’s yard and Mrs. Robin fly into provide it’s motherly support.

I guess my mom was right!  Even into the third generation, it’s always something.

Everyone has a story.  Hopefully the deer, the robin and the chipmunk will live to tell theirs.