This is not to say that wild animals 

 don't meet their share of natural deaths 

 from disease, predation and the ele- 

 ments. But as humans and wildlife 

 compete for space, and people prevail, 

 "wildlife rehabilitation" is becoming a 

 household word. So much so that most 

 states require people working in the 

 field to obtain a license. In North 

 Carolina, more than 500 permits were 

 issued to people who doctor the state's 

 wild animals. Rehabilitation of migra- 

 tory birds and protected species requires 

 an additional federal license through the 

 U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service. 



For rehabilitators to obtain a North 

 Carolina permit, the state "only requires 

 that they can exhibit some evidence of a 

 background or training with animals," 

 says Randall Wilson of the N.C. 

 Wildlife Resources Commission, the 

 licensing agency. Background on a 

 farm, training with another rehabilitator 

 or formal veterinary education are a few 

 examples of experience that might 

 qualify a candidate for a license, Wilson 

 says. 



But few rehabilitators are veterinar- 

 ians. Most learn by trial and error. Yet 

 rehabilitators almost always have a 

 relationship with a veterinarian, who 



can provide medicine and anesthesia 

 and perform surgery. In rehabilitation, 

 the services of the vet and the caregiver 

 are equally important. 



"There's a complement there," 

 says John Cely, wildlife biologist with 

 the S.C. Department of Natural 

 Resources, which licenses rehabilitators 

 in our sister state. "The veterinarian can 

 set bones and do some of the highly 

 technical stuff. But some of the 

 rehabilitators have the patience, 

 experience and knowledge to get birds 

 and other animals back into the wild. 

 You can't just go out and throw them 

 up in the air when you get out of the 

 vet's office." 



At OWLS, wildlife rehabilitation 

 means treating the animals and 

 preparing them for eventual release 

 back into the wild, the ultimate goal. 

 The shelter is not a petting zoo. 



"A lot of people have misconcep- 

 tions about wildlife rehabilitators," says 

 Baptist. "The most important thing 

 about the whole rehabilitation profes- 

 sion here is that people know we're not 

 bunny huggers. We're not making pets 

 out of these guys. We limit our contact 

 with them as much as possible because 

 we don't want them to get used to 



humans. We want them back out in the 

 wild." 



For some rehabilitators, the care 

 and treatment of sick wildlife is a 

 conservation technique. Still others see 

 their participation as an obligatory hand 

 to endangered or threatened species. 

 And for many, it's purely a humane 

 response to a suffering animal. 



Rehabilitators as an entity are 

 amorphous, as variegated as a sparrow 

 hawk's plumage. They are conservative 

 and liberal, vegetarians and meat-eaters, 

 scientists and homemakers. And the 

 anatomy of the wildlife infirmary has 

 many forms. From the way station for 

 ailing sea turtles and harbor seals 

 outside a North Carolina public 

 aquarium to the makeshift avian nursery 

 in the kitchen of a Wilmington home, 

 wildlife receive care ranging from a first 

 aid pit stop to extended convalescence. 



Olivia Burrus sprinkles a few soft- 

 shelled crabs into a 500-gallon tank. An 

 endangered Kemp's ridley sea turtle 

 bobbing on the surface snaps a crusta- 

 cean in its jaws as the others sink to the 

 bottom. 



A crack at the edge of the turtle's 

 shell — probably a propeller wound — 

 has been sealed with marine epoxy. 

 Missing scales reveal gray, sunbleached 

 patches on its back. An old gash glistens 

 behind its neck. But the biggest 

 problem, explains Burrus, is the 

 confounding buoyancy that keeps the 

 creature from the crawling crabs below. 



Working with a Manteo veterinar- 

 ian who assists with treatment, Burrus, 

 the aquarist at the N.C. Aquarium in 

 Manteo, speculates that bacteria in its 

 intestines are producing gasses that keep 

 the animal afloat. Or there's a leak in 

 the carapace. Or maybe the sea turtle 

 was caught in a shrimp net. 



"When they're caught in a trawl, 

 one of their lungs will blow out," she 

 says. "There'll be air in the body until it 

 repairs itself." 



That afternoon, Burrus and a 

 volunteer wipe the animal's shell with a 

 sponge soaked in antibacterial solution. 

 Later, the turtle will get another dose of 



1 6 SEPTEMBER/OCTOBER 1994 



