It started with an urgent phone call early this morning: “It’s just flopping around on my doorstep and acting all strange! It won’t fly!“
“What is, sir?” M worked to remain calm and patient. People who call in to the wildlife centre are often doubly distressed — once on the animal’s behalf and doubly because they want to help and aren’t sure how.
When the caller’s answer came, M knew she had an emergency on her hands …
“A bat!”
Contrary to pop culture lore, most bats are peaceful, non-aggressive creatures who mind their own business, having complex lives and social networks of their own to keep them occupied. But like any animal (humans included), bats can be carriers of disease, and unusual behaviour is often a sign that something is wrong. And a bat who’s flopping on a doorstep instead of flying (or, since this was daylight, sleeping) is definitely exhibiting unusual behaviour.
“Don’t touch it, sir!” M responded quickly to the caller.
“Don’t worry! I’m not getting anywhere near it!” M commended the caller on taking the appropriate safety precautions, and asked him to observe from a safe distance until she could get there. Then, gloves, net and carrier in hand, she hopped into her car and sped away.
Bats are known to be potential carriers of rabies, a highly contagious disease that produces horrific symptoms and suffering in both animals and humans. With animals, rabies is almost always fatal. With humans, if it’s caught in time, there is an antidote. But it’s a big “IF.” If you get bitten by a rabid bat, and don’t get the antidote in time, rabies will kill you.
For professional wildlife rehabilitators who want to work with bats, preventative measures are required before the rehabber can handle the animals. “I had three shots before I could start working with bats,” M tells me once she’s back at the centre with the bat.
I ask both her and L whether the shots produce any kind of symptomatic response. “You can get really sick,” L answers, “because it affects your immune system. I got some kind of horrible flu after my shots because my defenses were down. Oh, and the shots hurt like hell. My shoulder was sore for days!”
If a rehabber gets bitten or scratched or even sneezed on by a bat during rehabilitative care, and that bat turns out to be rabid, there are more shots: five if you’ve had the three pre-shots; OR if you’re a volunteer, or member of the public, seven shots.
I kept a closed door between myself and the bat exam going on in the medical room.
It was a silver haired bat, a good fifteen or twenty centimetres across by my observation as I watched it fly around the exam room above M’s and L’s heads. It looked big compared to others we’ve had in care, but weighed in at only 9 grams. Satisfied that it could in fact fly properly, L caught the bat in a net and scooped it out in a soft towel for further examination.
“He’s very ‘bitey’,” she said, turning him over carefully with gloved hands. “Very aggressive, and he’s chattering away, very vocal, which is unusual. That’s also part of the aggression. These are all signs he could be rabid.”
There’s nothing more to be done now. M places him in quarantine, a luxury we have right now while there are few animals in care, and takes him a dish of mealworms and calcium powder. The next 48 hours are critical. If he’s healthy, he’ll live. If he’s rabid, he’ll die. If he dies, his body will be sent to the Ministry for a necropsy, which will confirm or deny the suspected rabies diagnosis. And then M and L will be very glad of their three shots and sore shoulders, which could just save their lives.
For an amazing trilogy of novels about bats, filled with incredible lore and natural history on top of being great adventure stories, check out Kenneth Oppel’s Silverwing series!