Volunteers Prepare Oiled Birds for the Worst Stress of Their Lives
The call came this morning, and I missed it. I got back just last night from my cousin’s wedding in Victoria, and had turned my phone off to get some catch-up done today. I discovered J’s message about half an hour ago: “We need volunteers, starting today.”
Focus Wildlife has 14 oiled Canada Geese in care at Shellburn Refinery in Burnaby–birds caught in last week’s spill of 236,000 litres of crude oil — and teams are still out on the water trying to capture more oiled animals. They don’t show up at the wash station voluntarily, you see.
Today and tomorrow, volunteers will be suited up head to toe in Tyvex to protect against toxic contamination (mmm … full-body Tyvex in summer) and holding/restraining birds as per our rehabilitation training so that experienced rehabilitators can examine, sample blood from, medicate and/or tube-feed the animal patients.
Oiled birds are tube fed in order to protect their feathering from further contamination by food oils, as well as to protect the birds themselves from ingesting any of the toxic substances that coat their bodies.
J estimated that the washing would begin Wednesday or Thursday, once teams have collected as many oiled animals as possible, and once the birds in care are stabilized and strong enough to undergo the wash process.
When I visit schools, I tell kids that an oil spill bath is the likely the worst stress an animal will ever undergo in its entire life. Even death by a predator is over more quickly. The oil spill bath can take 30 minutes or more — that’s 30 minutes of being held captive by a “predator,” restrained indoors, and manipulated and manhandled from beak tip to tailfeathers — and many animals are known to die during the process. Many more can die during the rinse, which involves holding the bird upside down, wings spread, over a basin sink and turning the hose on it pretty much full force.
Did I mention my usual caveat? Do not try this at home.
The wash process is designed to remove every last hint of oil from a bird’s feathers; even a patch the size of your little fingernail can spread again and destroy a bird’s ability to insulate itself and maintain its buoyancy. The rinse is designed to remove every last trace of soap; its residues can cause almost as much trouble as the oil itself.
I’m going to eat now, and get ready to go. I’m nervous. Scared, actually. I feel it every week, before the start of my shift at the wildlife hospital. The knowledge that I’m walking into a life-or-death struggle for many animals, that I have the power to help — and that a mistake can cost a life. That feeling is stronger right now, by far; I’ve never been part of an oil spill response team, and I’m not sure what will be expected of me. It feels like a lot of responsibility.
Part of me wanted to say no, to refuse to go. But I’ve got no reason to, other than fear. Yeah, there were other things I’d planned to do today. But I have the chance to help save some lives. I’m scared, but I’m going.
Wish me luck …