Wildlife Rescue and Rehabilitation’s Blog

 By Lynn Cuny, Founder of Wildlife Rescue

Here at Wildlife Rescue & Rehabilitation every spring brings with it a new Baby Season. As you know, this is the time of year when for most native wildlife the mating of the winter months culminates in the birth of their young. If all goes well and the Animals are allowed to do what they have been doing for countless centuries, mothers and/or fathers and in some cases both, will skillfully and lovingly raise, care for and protect their youngsters. But sometimes, all does not go well.

Wildlife Rescue had, to say the least, humble origins. In the early days, the “sanctuary” was my back yard, funding was an early morning paper route, and WRR “staff” consisted of my parents, a few incredibly hard working volunteers, and yours truly. Many things have changed over the years but one element that has remained is Baby Season.

One of the more memorable babies, who was first a victim of human actions and then a beneficiary, was a unique baby Raccoon. Her story was somewhat unusual—a jogger on her morning route heard cries coming from an open pit on the far northwest side of San Antonio and called Wildlife Rescue. A construction site had not been properly maintained or cleaned and a large pit was left open as a death trap for unsuspecting Animals.

 It was an easy spot to find, for when my mother and I arrived early that morning we had only to follow the plaintive call of the baby. There about seven feet down in a rock well sat a sad, scared and no doubt hungry baby Raccoon. There was something about this little one that especially caught our attention, but for now the task before us was to retrieve her from this hole. We tried dangling a heavy rope but the youngster was too frightened; she would only shy away into the other side of the well.

We knew one of us would have to go down there in order to save her, and I was the best candidate as my dear mother was in her 60’s and had probably had all the adventures she needed while raising me and my five siblings! We tied the rope to a nearby tree and down I went. Once I was at the bottom, which was not all that far since I’m just shy of six feet tall, my mom handed a blanket and carrier down to me. The  little Raccoon was the palest shade of brown, her characteristic mask only a shade or two darker than her thick, soft fur, and though this was striking enough, there was something else about this girl that was just “not quite right.”

I collected the frightened youngster in the blanket and placed both gently into the carrier. With the help of Mom, I crawled up the rope, baby safely in tow. Soon we had her home, her bottle of formula warmed and ready for her lunch. As we took her from the carrier, I handed the little one to my mother’s loving arms and as she coaxed the new arrival to accept the bottle, Mom looked over at me and suddenly we realized what was wrong. In those days the condition was termed “water on the brain.” This poor, frightened little girl had been born with both an irregular coloration and a considerably more serious condition, which we now refer to as hydrocephalic. There was nothing to be done for her; there was no treatment.

In the weeks that followed there would be many challenges for the sandy colored Raccoon. Her tiny mouth and soft pink lips were not able to suck and she had to be tube fed, a procedure she was not at all happy about. But with much patience and literally hours of care given her by Mom, the infant learned to suck from a preemie nipple. She could take only small quantities of formula per feeding and since she had a healthy appetite, the feedings were offered every hour, usually well into the wee hours of the night. One way to accomplish this was to take her along on my early morning paper route, but most of her time was spent in the care of my mother, often with the encouragement of my dad as he watched over the two of them.

Many other Animals were being brought to WRR in those early days: Doves and Pigeons, an occasional Fawn, infant Skunks, Squirrels and Opossums, and one very elderly grey Fox who was found eating peaches that had grown ripe and fallen to the ground. The Fox was ancient, without teeth and missing large patches of fur, but she was a survivor and had been able to sustain herself on the bounty of just one tree, until the land owner trapped her one summer night. Somehow space was made for each of these and care was gladly offered. In the midst of all the Animals who came, were cared for, and then set free, the exceptional Raccoon remained. She was not growing, she could not really develop, but her spirit was bright and alive and her determination was unmatched.

This plucky youngster did her best as she learned to walk and ever so slowly crawl awkwardly over the thick, rough oak logs that we placed in her large cage. This was where she spent most of her time; she would sniff and scratch at the logs and struggle to overcome her clumsy gait. She had a special attraction to the oak logs. From our perspective they were there for training; they were her physical therapy equipment, but for the Raccoon there was a very different relationship. I could not identify it at the time, I had no name for what was taking place but when she came within reach of those oak logs, there was a profound change, a shift in her demeanor. Neither my mother nor I had any illusions about this baby; we knew her life would be cut short by her handicap and that there was a distinct possibility we would be faced with euthanizing her if she began to show signs of suffering. But what we learned as the weeks and months passed was that though this Raccoon was, in our view, impaired, she had a definite plan for her life.

She had come to us early in the spring and by late summer the tawny-colored youngster was able to eat from a dish, swim in a shallow pool and best of all, she had overcome her ungainly manner when climbing her precious logs. Now it was time for her to graduate. She had been spending her days outside in the sunshine and often another incoming Raccoon had been the ideal companion for her. But they always grew strong and moved on so that one day they could be set free; that day would never come for her and I have no doubt that she fully understood her path in this life.

It was a gorgeous late August day; the expanse of sharp blue sky was broken by clusters of billowing white clouds that helped cool the afternoon. The baby Raccoon had grown only a little for her age so that now she was the size of a young cat. My mother and I knew that the challenged little girl wanted to climb and today was the day we decided to give her the opportunity. There was a mid-sized tree in my backyard and after placing pillows all about the base of the hackberry, we sat her there and let her make her choice. It was only minutes before this special baby was on her way. The scene was one of both joy and heartache. Her small body was strong but not so agile when it came to climbing, yet this made little difference to her. She placed one determined paw in front of the other as she made her way up the trunk. Her eyes shone bright with excitement; how long had she wanted to do this, how long had she known what we were just realizing?

In only minutes she was up in the leafy branches of the welcoming tree. The fearless Raccoon grabbed at tender, green leaves, brought them gingerly to her mouth, tasted and felt of their texture and flavor. She perched and stretched, stumbled and almost fell, but held fast as this was her time and she was not to be denied a moment of it. She and the tree seemed to become one in the experience; it was this union that had brought about the change in her demeanor when first she approached her oak logs, it was this perfectly natural, absolutely innate behavior and love of a Raccoon to find herself a tree, that place that called to her, and that no matter her physical impairment, she responded to. She had been in the company of water and grass, of logs and rocks, but in her brief life she had yet to climb and now, in her own clumsy fashion, she was at last climbing.

She spent the entire day in that tree; she did not venture down for water or food; she did not grow bored with or tire from her time spent amongst those branches, leaves and limbs. When the sun was about to set and I was about to climb up to get her, she generously acquiesced and saved me the trouble.

My mother and I were forever moved and changed by what we saw that day and looking back, I think we both realized what we had witnessed, for early the next morning we found that preciously special youngster had died in her sleep. She had overcome what most of us can only imagine and she had done so with grace, joy and a dignified determination. I have never forgotten that baby and years later my mother told me how her heart went out to her the very moment I placed her in her arms.

There is a Spirit in every Animal. That Spirit is precious and often, to us, indefinable and unrecognizable, but nonetheless, it is forever present in every Dog and Cow, every Elephant and Chicken, every Worm and Lion. For each of these is endowed with what we sadly fail to or are afraid to recognize. But make no mistake—the Animals know this, and if we are wise and pay close attention, we may one day share in their knowledge.