

Of Bullies and Band-Aids®:Cyrano

Excerpt from

### Whispers from the Wild

Stories from a Wildlife Center

by

Jacqueline A. Carl

Janette Ackermann, DVM

Enter the world of

### The American Wildlife Foundation

a place where harsh realities are healed

by the magic of ordinary people.

Whispers from the Wild

Jacqueline A. Carl

Janette Ackerman, DVM

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2013 by JAJACquest

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information address JAJACquest, P.O. Box 1246, Molalla OR 97038

Printed in the United States of America

JAJACquest paperback edition / May 2013

All rights reserved.

### Table of Contents

Prologue

Of Bullies and Band-Aids®: Cyrano

Unexpected Drop-Off

Who's The Boss

From Bullied to Bully

Small Opportunities

The Bone Yard

Escape

Advanced Warning

A Special Kind of Healing

Efforts and Events

Wildlife Rhythms

Moving On

These stories are based on actual experiences. To protect the privacy of both people and property locations, and to ensure confidentiality, we have changed names, descriptions, and other identifying characteristics, other than our own or those of our families. The care techniques described were performed by a licensed veterinarian or conducted under the direction of a licensed veterinarian. They should not be attempted without the direct assistance or supervision of a licensed veterinarian.

Prologue

It started out so simply, innocently. "I love animals."

From the day they were born, twin sisters Janette and Jackie shared a special connection to animals, as they did to each other. It could have stopped at any time. Lots of people love animals. Siblings drift apart. But it didn't. And, at nine or ten, when people started to ask them what they wanted to do with their lives, their joint response was resounding. "I want to help animals."

People just smiled indulgently. It would pass. But it didn't. In fact, it got worse. It became a dream—not good, nor bad, just persistent. By high school the young women formulated their plans. "I want a career working with animals."

In college they went their separate ways, anxious to find out who they were apart from each other. Different aptitudes led to different degrees. Every job lead them back to their first love—animals. It was a calling.

After several years on their own, they realized they were better off together. With dogged determination, they collected what resources they could and headed for Oregon, a state known for active environmentalism. The heart knows its dream; even if that dream can break it now and again.

And so, the American Wildlife Foundation was born, a relentless dream made real in second hand furniture, hand-me-down equipment, and the blood and bones of creatures who have no place to turn when life goes bad.

But something unexpected happened along the way. It became so much more.

AWF is a place where people come to help animals, and in doing so, they usually end up helping each other and themselves.

These stories are based on true experiences. They are not accounts of cute and cuddly creatures (well, some are); they're about wildlife—animals who are not usually cooperative, or even grateful.

But listen carefully, and you will hear whispers from the wild—messages of hope and renewal, of perseverance and acceptance, of faith and family. And the imperative shared by all independent beings: _If you love me, set me free_.

We live in a world where it's easy to feel insignificant.

These stories remind us we are all connected.

And that what each of us does, no matter how small, matters.

Of Bullies and Band-Aids®

Cyrano

Unexpected Drop-off

"Look what I found by the front gate," Kate exclaimed. Across the room, Jackie peered suspiciously over her computer monitor. The thin, almost gangly volunteer struggled to lug an awkward dog crate through the narrow door of the wildlife center. The cold, wet Oregon spring pushed past her into the building with much less effort, blowing a stack of papers off the well-worn desk that served as the nonprofit's reception area.

Kate lowered the crate to the floor as gently as the oversized container would allow, and shoved the door closed with her muddy rubber boot. She adjusted her wet beanie as she squeezed around the crate and started to drag it along the floor, grinding mud into the linoleum as she headed for the treatment room.

Jackie interrupted her perpetual search for new sources of funding, and cocked an eyebrow at her twin sister and business partner, who appeared from the adjoining room. Dr. Janette Ackermann pulled on her white lab coat, struggling to subdue her flushing face; it threatened to reveal more than she wanted to their excited volunteer.

"I told them I was going to check with my partner _before_ I agreed to accept it as our first education animal." Janette grabbed one side of the crate to help Kate carry it into their modest treatment room and spare the abused floor. "I only talked to them yesterday."

Kate dropped a plastic bagged manila envelop onto the counter. It had obviously come with the bird. "It's a black vulture," she proclaimed.

While admiring the volunteer's excitement, Jackie had her doubts. Black vultures were not common in the area, and over years of working with wildlife, the co-directors of the center had discovered that even a relatively knowledgeable volunteer like Kate frequently misidentified an animal.

Jackie left her scattered papers to enter the treatment room. As her sister and Kate put the crate onto the exam table, a putrid odor wafted her way. She wrinkled her nose, trying not to gag. The odor was overpowering and unmistakable. If the smell of a dead animal is bad, there's absolutely _nothing_ worse than the smell of a dead animal after it's been consumed and then regurgitated.

Kate didn't seem to notice, and Janette, who had practiced primarily on wildlife following graduation from vet school, was accustomed to the rank odors that followed injured animals into the clinic, threatening to suck the oxygen out of whatever room they were kept in.

The terrified creature in the crate was shaking and sitting in a pool of its own vomit. Whoever had dropped it at the door hadn't even given it a blanket or strip of artificial turf for traction for its five hour journey to the center.

Jackie opened the envelope.

"Ohhhhhh," said Kate over her shoulder. "A baby picture."

No donation check, Jackie noted, only a blurry picture of a fuzzy white vulture chick standing, wings spread defensively, in a dirt floor pen. We barely opened our door for business, she thought, and we've already got our first permanent responsibility: a vulture. A harbinger of death dropped on your door just can't be a good sign. She suppressed a brief moment of dread.

Vultures, as scavengers, are associated with death, even to those who are not superstitious. Frequently shunned, and certainly under-appreciated, they play a vital role in keeping the environment clean and in balance, and help prevent the spread of disease.

Although Jackie didn't know it at the time, this bird was destined to become the heart of the wildlife center, or a Band-Aid® for their hearts in any case. In a business where there frequently seems to be as much death as success, this smelly bird, over the years, would be a constant reminder to be vigilant, try your hardest, make the best of every situation, pray a lot, and, most importantly, move on. For today, however, he was just a dirty, scared, and confused newcomer to the center. The first of many.

"Well, you're right about it being a vulture," said Jackie as she reached into the cupboard and pulled out a pair of leather welding gloves and goggles. "You've just got the wrong species. It's a turkey vulture."

"But it's head is black," Kate insisted.

"It's young," said Janette. "Juvenile turkey vultures' heads are covered with soft, black, hair-like feathers."

Of the seven species of vultures in the Americas, the most common in the mid-Willamette Valley is the turkey vulture. They live in or near deciduous forests, like those surrounding the small Oregon town of Molalla, situated halfway between Portland and Salem, and home to the American Wildlife Foundation.

Recovering somewhat from his motion sickness, the young bird stared at them with curiosity rather than the sensible fear of a wild bird trapped by human predators. It was obvious he'd been raised by people.

"He'll lose those feathers and gradually develop the more distinguishable red head of the adult," said Janette. She turned to Jackie. "The rehabber told me they had a young turkey vulture that had been imprinted despite all efforts to raise it "as a vulture."

She explained that, although the youngster had been housed in a pen with an adult vulture and hand-fed with a puppet to mimic the mother, the bird had not been fooled, imprinting on the human surrogate.

"What exactly is an imprint animal?" asked Kate.

"An imprint animal is one that, during its first few days of life, has been raised by someone other than its parent. This vulture is 'hard-wired' to think it's a human," said Janette.

"Unfortunately," said Jackie, "now it's neither an acceptable 'human' nor a tolerated 'vulture'."

"And," Janette continued, "the condition is usually not reversible. The animal never socializes appropriately with those of its same species so it doesn't learn its own language and behaviors, and it almost never mates, or has offspring."

Kate looked crestfallen. "Then we can't help it?"

"Didn't you use hand puppets on the California condors you worked with at the Los Angeles Zoo?" Jackie asked.

"Yes. It worked somewhat better there," said Janette, "because they had large flight pens, lots of other vultures, and blinds for staff and volunteers, as well as the puppets."

Janette was silent for a few moments. Jackie knew her sister missed the well-funded research program of the zoo, where she had completed an internship, working with scientists who collected eggs from the wild and raised them in incubators, hoping to increase infant survival. It was a big step down to their underfunded wildlife center.

Janette turned their attention back to the shivering young vulture. "They tried to release this guy multiple times, each attempt in a more remote location."

"There wasn't a wild flock that would take him?" Kate asked.

"He never got that far. They had to recapture the bird when it persisted in flying into neighborhoods going door-to-door begging for food."

The volunteer giggled at the image, her coarse, deep voice reminding Jackie of a smoker. Or a former smoker.

"He didn't do so well in their vulture pen either," Janette continued. "He was definitely at the bottom of their pecking order."

"I guess that's what happens when you really have no place to escape to." Jackie felt sorry for the young bird. Life in captivity definitely has its challenges.

"Poor little guy," said Kate. "I guess they gave up on him."

"They didn't exactly _give up_ ," Janette said, feeling the need to defend the rehabber. Those in the field know wildlife care is an inexact science with plenty of heartbreak and failure, despite the best intentions and effort. "They _did_ decide the bird wasn't releasable, and called us to see if we could offer it a good permanent home."

Janette looked at her sister. "Of course, they didn't exactly give me a chance to really accept or reject him."

Jackie shrugged as she mulled over the idea of a vulture as an education animal. Imprinted wildlife, she knew, tended to make better Animal Ambassadors. Indelibly wild animals, those past the age of imprinting, while they can be forced to live in cages, usually never really accept captivity, especially handling.

"Why would anyone kidnap a baby vulture?" said Kate, looking at a photo of the bird as an awkward, fuzzy white chick.

"They probably thought it was something cool," said Jackie. "Like an eagle or a hawk."

"More likely it was pushed out of the nest by a sibling." Janette preferred to give people the benefit of the doubt. "And I use the term 'nest' loosely. Vultures are lax parents that don't build elaborate nests. They usually raise one or two chicks on ledges or in cavities with little-to-no nesting materials. It's easy for one or even both chicks to fall or be pushed out during their three months nesting period."

Jackie held the gloves and goggles out to Kate, but the volunteer stepped back, too intimidated to reach into the crate and grab the young bird. Jackie didn't blame her. Even though vultures don't have the grasping talons of other raptors, their beaks can potentially break a finger or gouge out an eye if you aren't careful. "I'll handle this one," Jackie said.

Jackie talked as she donned the protective gear and opened the door of the enclosure. "Grab the legs with enough firmness and speed to trap the bird, then quickly pull it out of the crate to avoid tangling its wings and breaking feathers."

Waving her left hand to distract the vulture, Jackie reached into the box and grabbed the animal's legs with her right, taking the bird by complete surprise. The vulture found itself dangling upside down outside the crate in a matter of seconds. Janette took hold of the bird's elbows, closed the nearly six-foot wings, and burrito-wrapped it in a towel so she could safely conduct an initial exam.

"Zero the scale," Jackie ordered. Kate punched the reset button. Jackie placed the vulture on its back on the weight-plate. Minus the towel, the bird weighed one point eight kilograms, nearly five pounds, almost the weight of a full adult. Despite its omega position in the captive flock, the vulture had still eaten well.

The veterinarian's practiced hands unwrapped and re-wrapped the bird's various body parts, methodically checking for injuries. "Vultures are members of the raptor family," said Janette, as she examined the bird's large feet, "even though they don't have the dangerous talons of other bird-of-prey." One of the animal's ankles was bruised and swollen, but functional.

"Which means," said Jackie, "as long as you control the wings and beak, they're a lot easier to handle than a similar-sized hunting bird."

Kate smiled and stepped forward, ready to jump in.

Dr. Ackermann listened to clear lungs and a strong heart with her stethoscope, looked into each bright eye with her ophthalmoscope, and finally opened the bird's beak to see pink and healthy gums and a clear throat.

"So far so good," she announced. "It's using that leg, so I don't think it's broken. Just to be on the safe side, I'd like to get an X-ray. I'd also like to run some blood tests, and get a fecal swab for parasites. Kate, do you think you can hold the wing still while I draw some blood?" Jackie and Kate held the bird in forced quiet while Dr. Ackermann got a wing venipuncture and swabbed the cloaca.

Followed by the volunteer, the veterinarian walked the wrapped bird down the long, narrow hallway, past the clinic's one small bathroom and intensive care rooms, to surgery, where she would anesthetize the animal before taking it across the hall to their X-ray/lab. Kate waited outside while the doctor shot a quick picture.

When the bird was resting comfortably in a cage, Dr. Ackermann ran her tests and developed her film. By the end of the morning, she'd determined the animal, while shaken and with a badly sprained hock, was healthy overall.

Who's the Boss

"Now that's just nasty." Alyson wrinkled her nose, trying not to gag as she stared through the chain link at Cyrano's feces-encrusted legs. Janette held back a chuckle as she watched Kate and Alyson. The volunteers couldn't be more different. The daring and creative Kate was all elbows and angles, while the cautious and practical Alyson was tall and buxom. Inside the mews, Kate devoted her full attention to Cyrano. She was pleased with the name she'd assigned the center's first Animal Ambassador. And the turkey vulture was thriving in his own private pen—the food was regular, the competition eliminated, his twisted leg was healed, his injured pride was forgotten. Never having been truly wild or free, the bird was content in his small pen, happy to be cared for by his human companions. In short, he was the king of his castle.

"As disgusting as it seems," said Janette, "vultures defecate on their own legs for a reason. Their stomach juices are able to digest food and neutralize bacteria that would kill most other animals."

"Vulture poop kills germs that stick to their feet and legs while they're eating," said Kate, pulling down the red beanie that kept creeping up her skull. "Their bald heads keep bacteria from growing in any feathers."

Alyson moved up wind of the pen, adjusting the collar of her long coat against a damp blast of cold air that whistled around the mews. She shrugged, "I just wish they didn't smell so bad."

Kate grabbed a hose to clean food and water bowls. Cyrano stayed well away from the spray. He ruffled his feathers and huffed, disapproving. _Baths are undignified._

Alyson pushed a strand of her red hair out of her face and behind her ear. Its length fluttered around her head like a tangled web. "How can you tell it's a boy?" she asked.

"We can't really," said Janette. "It just seemed a good name for a bird that lives by its nose."

Kate tightened her scarf. It hadn't passed anyone's notice that the volunteer had switched from the plain blue cap she normally wore to a bright red one. Janette wondered how many of the volunteers, if any, knew why Kate wore a hat or scarf in good weather or in bad. Kate didn't exactly keep it a secret. The volunteer lived with alopecia, a hereditary condition in which she had lost most of her body hair. Her delicate skin was covered with white blotches. Her differences however, affected neither her physical abilities nor her good humor.

Over the past few weeks Kate had bonded with the young vulture, a kindred spirit. Animals don't care what you look like. And Cyrano took full advantage of the friendship, expecting extra rations of food and company from the generous volunteer.

"I brought more skin products for your daughter," Kate called after them as Janette and Alyson turned to leave. "And some new make-up that will look great on her."

"Oh thanks," said Alyson. "She's just about out of the samples you gave her. And her skin looks so much better."

"Maura's acne was getting so bad she was too embarrassed to leave the house," Alyson told Janette as they headed up the path.

"Teenagers can be harsh." Janette remembered her own beleaguered battle with hormonal acne.

"Kate's an expert on skin care and make-up," said Alyson. "People can take a few lessons from her on making the best of things."

"Kate's coping skills are pretty inspiring," said Janette

"Have you ever seen her in one of her crazy wigs?"

Janette laughed. "The first time Cyrano saw her in long, multicolored hair, he fell instantly in love."

They reached the clinic, grateful for the small central heater, taking a few moments to warm up before removing their coats. Alyson braided her long hair, then heading for the kitchen to prepare food for the rest of the animals. "I must admit," she said, "Cyrano really is the perfect name for him."

"I wonder if Kate realizes the irony of her choice," said Janette. Kate was Cyrano's first love.

In years to come, Cyrano would prove himself a fickle creature, easily infatuated and sometimes even mildly obsessed, however briefly and, as per his imprinting, inappropriately. Unrequited love. Sadly, few people would even noticed Cyrano's deep, if fleeting, infatuations.

"You'd be amazed how many people don't even get his name," said Alyson, shaking her head. It annoyed the well-read woman that so few people actually recognized the allusion to Edmond Rostand's play, _Cyrano De Bergerac._ Alyson worked mostly as an information booth volunteer for the wildlife center, and frequently represented AWF at fairs and other events. She rinsed her bowl and put it in the drying rack.

The bubbly Kate, like most of the wildlife center's volunteers, had little interest in education programs or in information booths, except to handle animals. "Is it time to start fisting Cyrano?" she asked when she'd returned to the clinic, clattering more dirty dishes into the sink. Alyson sighed as she added more dish soap and hot water.

Training to the fist, or fisting, is the process by which a bird learns to sit on a gloved hand while it is being paraded around for close inspection.

"Today's as good a day as any to teach Cyrano who's the boss," said Janette after a moment to consider her schedule. "The swelling in his leg is completely resolved. We should have plenty of time once the animal care is done."

Kate grinned, pulling a broom and mop from the hallway closet.

"First step," said Janette, as they readied to go outside, "is to measure Cyrano for jesses."

Traditionally used by falconers, jesses are thin straps of leather used to tether a bird. They give a handler control over an animal while it is on the gloved fist, or allow it to be secured to a perch.

Janette pulled out four pairs of flexible, leather jesses she'd made of kangaroo hide, and handed them to the Kate. "At least one of these should fit Cyrano."

Kate put on full leather protective gear, adding a welder's bib to the gloves and goggles.

When they reached Cyrano's pen, the vulture flew from his low perch to the ground. He walked to the pen door to greet his human visitors. There was no sign of a limp.

"Will Cyrano be able to fist since his feet don't grasp like other raptors?" Kate asked, looking at Cyrano's outstretched toes, tipped with nails like a dog instead of the grasping talons of most raptors.

"Oh sure," Janette unlocked the mews. "Both Cyrano and his handlers will have to practice balancing him while walking around."

Cyrano eyed the women suspiciously. _Why are you dressed like that?_ He hadn't forgotten the leather gear, or being caught and restrained, poked and prodded.

Alyson stood back as Janette and Kate opened the mews door and prepared to do battle with the wary buzzard. She was content just to watch the ensuing fray.

Kate entered first. She tugged at her red beanie, apparently hoping to make Cyrano feel more secure. Janette didn't think so, although she knew vultures are one of the few species of animals that can see in color.

The veterinarian closed the door behind them, latching it from the inside so the bird couldn't escape. Of course, neither could they—at least not easily.

Cyrano stretched out his wings as he and Kate squared off, each trying to figure out who would be the next to move. The vulture seemed to get bigger as the wrestling match began.

Kate moved as close to the bird as he would allow. Holding her breath, she snatched up his legs, one in each hand. "Gotcha," she said, dodging beating wings, her goggles knocked askew. The volunteer struggled to transfer the vulture's legs to one hand. Janette helped Kate corral the bird's long wings. They turned the animal around so Kate could pull his back to her chest encircling wings and body into her arms. Finally remembering to breathe, Kate smiled. She tried to right her goggles with her shoulder.

Being restrained did not suit Cyrano. He lurched his head to the side and downward, expelling what was left of his breakfast. The putrid smell filled the pen.

"Ugh, said Janette. "We'll have to remember _not_ to feed him before handling."

Though Kate gagged, she gamely held on to the large bird.

Cyrano's still-trapped feet were now stuck out in front of him, and Janette went about fitting his jesses, looping one around each of the bird's ankles and sliding the end through a vertical slit she had carved into the straps.

Mouth agape, Cyrano glared at the veterinarian as she slipped several pairs on and off, until she found the right size. "Well, those seem to fit best," said Janette, "while still giving him room to grow."

Kate dropped the vulture to the floor, and the women quickly exited the pen. Cyrano kicked and pulled at his new jesses with every step he took, even yanking his own feet out from under himself.

The ladies giggled, but Cyrano was not amused. In protest, he squirted a thick, sticky, white film over the pristine leather. It slowly oozed down his legs.

"Usually captive birds that are handled frequently wear jesses at all times," Janette told her volunteers. "Of course that of won't be the protocol for Cyrano. He defecates on his own legs with nonchalance. His jesses will have to come on and off as-needed."

"That won't be easy," said Alyson.

"It'll require quite a bit of training, even for an imprint animal. Today is just the beginning," said Janette. She knew, it would be the first of many times Cyrano would need to be captured before he learned to accept his new circumstances.

Cyrano flew to the nearest perch and chewed at his leather anklets. The gooey excrement hadn't made them any more slippery.

"I guess this is where we find out just how tough kangaroo hide really is," said Kate, looking a little guilty for laughing.

Cyrano flashed angry eyes at his tormenters, gaping at them.

Janette glanced at both her volunteers. She knew if it were up to them, they'd be removing the jesses immediately. The wildlife center manager decided to beat a hasty retreat. "We're going to have to give it some time," she said, turning to leave. "Trust me, it'll get worse before it gets better. Tomorrow he won't be nearly as easy to catch."

The trio walked back to the clinic in silence, leaving the vulture to his own devices. Janette was glad she'd be removing the jesses with her sister instead of a volunteer later this afternoon. Her help this morning looked a little green, which didn't surprise her. Few wildlife, or even imprints, accepts captivity willingly. Their "forced imprisonment" is often a shock to people who expect wild animals to respond to human contact the way a dog or cat would.

"I'm glad I don't ever have to do that," Alyson finally whispered. She was one of the few volunteers who chose _not_ to handle animals, for which, Janette was grateful. Nearly all volunteers want to care for animals. Few offer to do any of the other necessary tasks. Alyson had a talent for talking to people, especially kids. She was also skilled at using the computer. There was always so much record keeping at the wildlife center.

"No one _has_ to handle animals," said Janette.

Kate looked like she might cry. "Cyrano's going to hate me."

"He'll get over it." Janette was matter of fact. "Imprint animals handle captivity and training better than other wildlife. You'll see. We're just going to have to give it some time. Soon we'll be able to put on and remove his jesses without restraining him at all."

Jackie sighed, wishing she was doing anything else at the moment. "I'm not looking forward to step two of his training process," she said. If we thought teaching him to wear jesses was tough, crate training will probably be worse. He doesn't exactly have fond memories."

The twins watched Cyrano in his pen, bowing his head, shaking his wings, and walking in tight circles in abject submission. They wondered how uncomfortable his jesses were, as the now-filthy and stiffened restraints trailed one from each of the bird's ankles.

Jackie noted her sister didn't seem to be paying attention to her training concerns.

"It's embarrassing having to explain his behavior every time we walk past his pen," said Janette. "Is he going to have that behavior forever?"

"He might." Jackie sighed. "I think it bothers you more than anyone else."

After a minute Janette answered her sister's concern. "We can't use him in off-site education programs if he isn't crate trained."

Jackie was used to her sister's tangents, as the veterinarian was frequently distracted by whatever case was on her mind at the moment. A hazard with her job, and the daily multi-tasking required by the wildlife center, she thought.

The sisters, and those volunteers willing and able to challenge the ornery buzzard, had made it a regular practice to catch and tether him. As soon as Cyrano had accepted he _would_ wear restraints, they were allowed to put them on while he stood upright on his platform, just to make sure it was done right.

"Just think about sunning yourself on the lawn where you can watch everything that's going on," Jackie cooed as she threaded a leash through the jesses until it reached the end-stop, while carefully watching Cyrano so he wouldn't take a bite out of her bare hand.

"Liar," said Janette.

Jackie ignored her.

Cyrano cocked his head to watch Jackie put on her elbow-length gloves. On cue, he stepped up onto her outstretched arm. Jackie tipped slightly as she adjusted to his weight. He extended his wings for balance as they moved away from his platform, teetering somewhat precariously. She carried him slowly to a stainless steel stake in the lawn and snapped his leash to it with a triumphant smile.

"Only you, Kate, and I have managed to get him tethered and staked out without incident," said Janette. "Other volunteers have received some nasty bruises when they fumbled or looked away from him, even for a second."

"Snob," Jackie threw at the bird.

Cyrano preened himself in the sun like a prima donna. He looked up at them, indifferent.

"He beats them with his wings if they tip too far or too often," said Janette. "Then they drop him, which he really doesn't appreciate."

"I guess no one said a vulture had to make controlling him easy," said Jackie. She looked down at the large bird. "You're not going to like what we've got planned today."

Cyrano stopped preening long enough to throw her a mildly interested glance. Obviously his English hadn't gotten much better since his arrival.

Janette got the crate. Cyrano was not happy to see it. He growled at the offending box, hop-flapping to the end of his leash. Janette set the enclosure down a few feet away from the bird and opened the door. He spread his wings wide.

An inauspicious start.

"Get in, you little monster." Janette hissed holding open the crate door as Jackie battled to collect flailing legs and outstretched wings, and stuff them into the box.

The vulture arched his back and twisted his head around, snapping at the woman. The crate meant a car ride, and he would have none of that. Cyrano vomited a partially digested rat. The natural distraction, which may have worked against a wild predator, did nothing but aggravate the women.

"Darn it," Jackie swore, nose and eyes watering. Her goggles fogged. "I thought we were going to fast him until after training today.

Janette's face burned. "I marked it on the feeding board," she swore, but the truth was, she'd been too busy to follow up. The volunteer must have forgotten.

Jackie struggled to force the vulture through the door of the crate, which seemed a lot smaller than it had just a few minutes ago.

"He's not getting any braver," said Janette. "That's for sure."

That's an understatement. Jackie grabbed both wings at the elbows, and finally managed to fold them to the bird's body. Before Cyrano had a chance to stretch out his full body length, she tilted his head down and stuffed him inside the crate, dragging his legs behind him. Janette slammed and latched the door before the bird had time to turn around.

Jackie pulled off the goggles so her eyes could breathe.

"Ugh," both women said simultaneously.

"I'm going to smell like this all day," said Jackie.

"Maybe no one will notice," Janette offered.

It took several years, but Cyrano eventually resigned himself to walking into and out of his crate. He became a mascot of sorts for many of the social groups in the area, and was invited to all the local events. However, no matter how often he left the property, Cyrano and cars never did repair their battered relationship.

From Bullied to Bully

Loud hissing from the adjoining room broke Jackie's concentration. She shut off her computer, giving up on her accounting for the morning. There's only so much distraction, or business reporting, a person can handle. The wildlife center manager headed for the treatment room, through the wildlife center's small kitchen.

"Ugggggg, this is the worst," Constance scrunched her face, holding her breath as she worked to clip the heads, tails, and extremities off a huge pile of mouse carcasses defrosting in the kitchen sink. Turning her head as far as it would go, the volunteer gulped in air, before returning to the carnage.

"Can't help if you won't use Vicks® and a mask," Jackie told her.

"It's never bothered me," she said. "Then again, I don't usually have to skin and cut them into tiny pieces."

"What's with the special prep?" Jackie asked her sister. Janette opened the cardboard box on the table in front of her. Three fluffy, white barn owl chicks popped their heads up and screamed for food. Suddenly, the room erupted in loud, wavering hisses. Jackie turned towards the commotion. Nearly all of the dozen or so cages in the room contained a box of owlets, each trying to out-scream the other.

Constance brought over a dish of cleaned meat.

Janette grabbed a long-nosed forceps and picked up what looked to Jackie like a mouse leg. "One at a time," she showed her volunteer, "wave it in front of them." The largest chick reached up and snapped up the morsel, swallowing it whole, bones and all. "The first one to grab it, gets it," said the doctor.

"I've got to get a pair of these." The volunteer admired the stainless steel forceps. Constance volunteered for another rehabilitation center in the next county, making the hour-long drive to AWF once a week to work with the experienced wildlife veterinarian. "We have a lot more trouble with chicks trying to grab us, instead of the food," she said.

"That's because raptors are born with full-size feet," said Jackie, only half-joking. "Talons and all."

Janette raised an eyebrow at her sister and shook her head before grabbing another piece of meat and waving it over the box again. "You really can't feed raptors without a pair of long biopsy forceps," she said. "Without some distance, raptors can hurt you, themselves, and each other just as easily." A second chick snapped at the food, oblivious to the fact it had stepped on top of its siblings.

"I find being a bit away from the birds might also make them less likely to imprint," said Constance. She took the forceps and turned the instrument over in her hand, admiring the short, grasping tip. "We've worn canvas bags over our heads while feeding."

Jackie tried not to laugh as she pictured the heavy-set woman trying to feed owlets with a bag over her head. She wondered how much food she'd actually gotten into the chicks.

"Owls don't imprint as easily as vultures," said Janette. "Like most raptors, they're more solitary."

When Constance had fed at least one piece to each owlet, Janette stepped away from the table. "Feed each one of these owls five or six mice throughout the day today," she said, "until they're full." She nodded at the cages. "You've only got twenty-six barn owls to go."

"By the time you've fed them each once," said Jackie, "it'll be time to start again."

Constance gulped. "You're kidding." She looked around the room grasping the enormity of the task. "Where did all these guys come from?"

"We had a long dry spell this season, so farmers took the opportunity to cut a second crop. Barn owls raise their chicks in the bales of hay. When the bales are brought to market, the chicks are dragged along. The local feed store brought them to us."

"Do we have enough mice for all these birds?" Jackie asked her sister.

"We do if we feed fish to anything else that will eat it," said Janette, grabbing the center's full leather welder's bib, gloves, and goggles, "including Cyrano."

"Poor Cyrano will have grown a pair of gills by the end of this summer," said Jackie as she followed her twin outside to the Nature Trail.

"What's the trash can lid for?" The question came from a diminutive volunteer Jackie didn't recognize who was standing outside Cyrano's mews. They watched Cassie, in full protective gear, pick up a trash can lid by the handle, wielding it like a shield. She adjusted her rake, a container of fresh water, a garbage bag, and the fish that would be Cyrano's breakfast, in her available hand.

"It's protection," said Janette. "We need it to keep the vulture at bay while we clean his pen."

"Is he still mad about the jesses?" said Jackie. "I thought he got over that long ago."

"Puberty." Janette unlocked the door of vulture's pen.

Was that a gleam in his eyes, Jackie wondered?

"Hi." The new volunteer quietly introduced herself as Colette. The woman's dark eyes never left Cassie or the bird.

Cyrano ignored the veterinarian, focusing on Cassie as the two entered his pen. _Volunteers are a lot more interesting. Especially new ones._

"Each person has to assert dominance over Cyrano, or he won't even let you in the pen." Janette said to Colette. "As you can see, he's not interested in me. I've already established myself in his pecking order."

Cleaning the pen, while holding the bird at bay with the garbage can lid, takes dexterity. Cyrano dove at Cassie the moment she divided her attention between him and the task at hand. Cassie dropped her supplies, grabbing the lid with both hands to defend herself against the aggressive buzzard. The vulture bounced off the shield unharmed, though startled by the clatter of nails against metal.

"A lot of the volunteers keep the rake between them and the ornery bird," said Janette. "I've got to admit, using a trash can lid definitely gives him pause for thought," she said, "and there's less chance for injury."

Cassie picked up the rake and began again. Cyrano waited for the volunteer to turn her back to him, then struck again, managing to avoid the shield while sliding down her covered arm. Back on the ground, he bit at the volunteer's ankles, trying to catch tender skin between pant and boot. Cassie gave him a swift kick with the top of her footwear, pushing him off without actually hurting him.

"That's it," said Janette. "It won't take long to earn his respect."

She turned to her sister and their new volunteer. "Unfortunately, volunteers have to reassert their dominance, more or less, every week until he stops."

Jackie glanced at Colette, who looked unsettled.

"Cyrano is particularly unbearable during breeding season," said Janette, "or while molting, when his hormones bring out the worst in him."

Cassie continued, shaken but determined. She picked up the leftover rat pieces and dropped them into her plastic garbage bag.

Cyrano cocked his head at her and debated, deciding not to attack again.

"If he flies at you, push him firmly out of the air and tell him 'NO'." said Janette. "Mostly, he won't do it again."

"At least not today," said Jackie.

Cassie dropped a fish onto his feeding platform. Cyrano craned his neck to see what she had brought.

"Where do you get the rats and mice you feed out?" Colette asked, looking a bit faint. "Do we have to kill them?"

"The rats come from area research facilities," said Jackie. "They're the control group of each trial, the ones that aren't experimented on. They're frozen when we get them."

Colette looked both relieved and queasy.

"It's the unavoidable part of medical research," said Jackie. "The rats aren't wasted, and our animals are kept fed." And that was all she was going to say about the much argued ethics.

Cyrano jumped to the floor, ignoring the fish. He stood and watched them innocently. Apparently three people gawking at him was amusement enough for now.

"I guess you've got his number," said Janette.

"Tell me you're planning to put the baby in with Cyrano?" Cassie said as she blew a strand of graying hair out of her face and grinned. She looked at the twins, obviously pleased with her progress.

Jackie looked over to an adjacent pen that housed an orphaned vulture. "After Cyrano just tried to beat up Cassie?" She was not at all certain co-mingling the birds was a good idea. Colette's eyes followed hers to the young bird sitting in the front corner of its pen, watching them intently.

"It's sad to see vultures by themselves." Cassie was not dissuaded. "They belong together in a group." Cassie knew a lot about wildlife in general, and the animals at AWF specifically. She routinely gave education programs to visitors.

"That's the plan," said the veterinarian, but she didn't sound nearly as enthusiastic as the volunteer. Wild vultures are communal roosters; that is, they spend the nights in the protection and comfort of large groups in open fields. But Cyrano was _not_ a normal vulture.

Janette turned to her sister. "Vultures don't normally attack the young," she said Janette, "and I think both birds would be better off not raised solitary."

There's that word again, thought Jackie. Normal.

"By putting Cyrano into the juvenile's pen we're essentially taking him out of his own territory," said Janette. "Less reason for aggression."

Jackie still had her doubts. And she definitely preferred not doing anything risky in front of volunteers, especially new ones. She looked at Colette, trying to judge how much more the young woman could take. "I guess we're here to separate them if things turn ugly."

Bundled in Cassie's arms, Cyrano was transported to the juvenile vulture's pen, where he flew to the nearest perch, shaking off the indignity of having been caught. It took a minute before he noticed the juvenile. Less to attack. The older, larger vulture jumped onto the young bird's back, biting at its head and neck.

"He's going to kill it," screamed Cassie.

Colette, barely recovered from the earlier encounter, went pale as she stared wide-eyed, lips clamped tight.

The young vulture squatted down onto the floor submissively. It did not defend itself.

Cyrano continued the assault.

Janette and Jackie ran into the cage, each grabbing a bird. The battle was over before it had really begun. No blood had been drawn, but it was obvious Cyrano, the bullied, was now the bully.

"I guess that's it," said Janette, as she returned a struggling Cyrano to his own pen. "We're done trying to socialize him. I've put other adult vultures in with him, even a red-tailed hawk. All he does in harass them to a serious frazzle."

"I didn't realize you could house large birds together," said Cassie.

"Communal birds can usually cohabit," said Janette. "It saves on valuable pen space."

But Cyrano would have none of it. Now in full health and strength, and bored, the vulture had no mercy. He would live solitary for the rest of his life.

Colette said very little all day. Jackie tried to lighten the mood. "It's amazing how many volunteers tell me Cyrano is their favorite."

"It's those eyes." Cassie jumped in. "He's the most engaging animal at the center. Few wildlife get over their fear of humans. Cyrano not only likes people, he pays close attention," she said. "Watch him cock his head so he can see and hear everything, no matter what mood he's in. I love him, even if he can be a bully."

The fondness others may have felt for the vulture didn't persuade the newest volunteer though. Colette never returned to the wildlife center.

Small Opportunities

"Drat these busy-body starlings." Jackie balanced at the top of a 20-foot extension ladder, one hand hanging onto the top rung, the other managing a broom. She brushed away several more partially-built nests from the top of the center's two-story barn door.

Though starlings breed several times a year, in the springtime staff and volunteers clear away at least a dozen nests a week, before the small and prolific black birds have a chance to lay their eggs.

"These birds are more interested in breeding than finding a decent place to build their nests, or taking care of their chicks," she complained.

Her husband struggled to keep debris from his face as he steadied the ladder.

"I've got some mud dauber nests you can remove from the eaves of my two-story home when you're done," Sandra said from the barn aisle. The volunteer smiled up at them, then placed food, water, and cleaning supplies on the floor next to the stall door. She checked the record hanging on a hook just outside the pen before wrestling open the heavy door.

"She wants us to get rid of some wasp nests?" Rick asked his wife as she climbed down from the barn rafters.

"Sandra has barn swallows," she said. The couple moved the ladder over a few feet, before she climbed up again. "They build their nests out of mud as high as they can get them."

"Are they as persistent as these starlings?"

"Yes, but they're native, and not in the habit of stealing other bird's nests. Or killing their offspring."

Janette strode into the barn still talking on her cell phone. "You need to block the entrance to the underside of your house when the skunk leaves at night." What would Janette do without her hands-free device that allowed her to use her cell phone and work at the same time? Jackie wondered.

"We spend as much time telling people what to do with wildlife as we do caring for animals." said Jackie. "How to attract them and, just as often, how to get rid of them."

"More," said her husband.

"And you'd better do it as soon as possible," Janette warned, "before she has babies and you _really_ have a problem."

"Tell her she's lucky the skunk isn't in her washing machine." Rick said more to his wife than to her twin sister.

Jackie smiled at her husband. When they'd met, Rick had been a State Humane Officer, enforcing laws regarding animals. Together over the years they had collected a lot of animal stories.

"How did you get the skunk out?" Jackie asked.

"Easy," he said. "I just opened the door and waited. I wasn't about to stick my hands or my face anywhere near it." He ducked a particularly large pile of debris. "Next time _you_ steady the ladder."

"That's the last of it," she said, climbing down and brushing herself off. "For today, anyway."

Rick folded up the ladder so they could carry it to the storage room in the center of their 19-stall barn.

"You know, for their potential," said Jackie, "skunks are usually pretty reasonable."

He rolled his eyes at her.

I guess not too many people think skunks are reasonable, she thought. Jackie looked at her husband's dirty face, and decided he deserved a quick kiss.

It was a warm, sunny day. Cyrano was staked on the lawn, his wings spread, slowly turning to take best advantage of every delicious ray. He was beckoning to a van full of Girl Scouts who were just arriving.

Jackie checked her watch and sighed. The tour was late again. She wondered, not for the first time, if kids were ever on schedule.

Cassie held both hands up for quiet after the kids disembarked the van, and waited, an endless fountain of patience. When the girls had settled, she began. "Welcome to the American Wildlife Foundation, a state and federally licensed nonprofit wildlife care and environmental education center. Our mission is to teach people to care for and about animals, and the environment we all live in."

The group crowded around the vulture, something that would have made a wild animal decidedly uncomfortable. "Say hello to Cyrano, one of our Animal Ambassadors," said Cassie.

This particular tour would begin in the rehab barn, followed by a walk along the Nature Trail. It would end at the veterinary clinic. About forty-five minutes. That gives me time to get cleaned up, thought Jackie. Then I can assign the work-study jobs,

Half an hour later, Jackie sat on the front deck of the clinic watching Cassie and the chattering group of girls. More interested in Cyrano than the clinic, Cassie had wisely elected to shorten and redirect the last part of their tour. She returned to stand, once again, in front of the demonstrative vulture.

Jackie saw Cyrano close his wings and walk to the end of his tether, hoping, no doubt, one of the kids was standing near enough for him to grab a shoelace. No such luck.

"In many cultures and religions, the vulture is a symbol of compassion and protection, as well as a prophesier of death and destruction." Cassie was silent for a minute, drawing the girls in. She delighted as their eyes widened. This was information they wouldn't likely find in their school books. "Does anyone know what a prophecy is?"

"To tell the future." The girls giggled.

Close enough. Jackie was impressed.

Cassie went on. "Does anyone know the most famous representation of the vulture?"

Silence. Cassie held their interest.

"Has anyone heard of the Egyptian goddess Isis?" She continued in a question-and-answer style that kept the girls present and engaged.

"Oh yeah, like in _The Red Pyramid_ books," one of the older girls blurted. Jackie was familiar with the popular books for children. Cassie, nodded with her usual enthusiasm.

"The golden winged Isis is the Egyptian goddess of life itself. As a prophesier of death, and a natural recycler, the vulture is the protector of the dead and promises life renewed."

"Ohhhhh." Cassie turned to see what had attracted their attention.

All shoe laces out of reach, Cyrano had turned and spread his wings. In the sunlight his dark plumage revealed a hidden iridescence of green, purple and gold amidst black feathers.

Jackie smiled. They could always count on Cyrano to entertain.

Cassie turned the talk to the vulture's role in natural recycling, some of which invariably grossed the girls out.

Jackie noticed a small group of vultures flying high above Cyrano's head. It was not the flock's first visit. The wild birds wondered what had pulled Cyrano from the skies. They neither smelled nor saw anything interesting. Still curious, they glided to within a few feet of the imprinted bird. Several of the girls pointed. Cyrano didn't fear the wild birds, nor was he tempted to fly off with them. He only watched with mild curiosity, cocking his head to get a better view. When the flock was satisfied he had no food to share, they left without a backward glance.

That's just sad, thought Jackie. She wished Cyrano could be reprogrammed to think and behave like a wild vulture. Then he could have the life nature had intended.

It didn't take too many visits before the wild vultures recognized Cyrano as "mentally handicapped," and ignore him entirely.

"Why doesn't he fly away?" a young girl asked.

"He doesn't know what to do," said Cassie, turning the lesson to imprinting.

"Let's all have a quick restroom break," said the leader, ending the tour and herding the girls back to the clinic, and its one bathroom,

"Time to assign their work-study project," Jackie told her sister when the group had collected in the parking lot. Work-study projects are determined in advance. Younger kids are usually asked to collect and recycle aluminum cans and soda bottles, the money for which is donated to adopt the care of an animal.

"Can we adopt the baby vulture?" The girls erupted into a chorus of approvals; a few of them hopping in excitement.

Jackie didn't see which girl had asked the question, but she was pleased Cyrano and their recycling theme had made the desired impression.

"What happened to him?"

"It was brought to the wildlife center as an orphan," said Janette, but she didn't have a chance to finish.

"Was his mom killed?"

"We don't really know," she said. "You see, vulture moms are not as good as your moms are."

Jackie thought of the careless and destructive starlings in the barn.

"They don't even bother to fix their nests, using them again and again until they literally fall apart," said Janette.

"How did he get here?"

"Someone found it and brought it here for us to take care of."

"Can we name him?"

"We don't usually name patients brought to the wildlife center," said Janette. "It's easier to release them that way."

"But we will give your troop an adoption certificate with a photo on it," said Jackie.

"I want to call him Blackhead," one girl blurted. She blushed when the other girls snickered.

Jackie's smile tightened. I'm not as patient with kids as either Janette or Cassie, she thought. This child has learned to ignore what she doesn't want to hear, plowing ahead anyway. Despite her frustration, Jackie could admire the basic survival skill. She wondered what form it would take in the child's future—determination might serve her well, stubbornness could hamper success.

Janette smiled at her sister, knowing what her twin was thinking. Had they themselves been determined, or stubborn, in choosing to run a wildlife center? Only time would tell.

"You know they're not likely to follow through with their recycling project," said Jackie as they watched the van pull out. More often than not, kids found it difficult to stick to a project long enough to earn a Certificate of Adoption.

"We still have to give the kids the opportunity," said Janette. "If you don't offer small chances to make a difference, nothing magical will ever happen."

Jackie smiled. She could almost hear the proverbial stone drop into a quiet pool, the tiny ripples stretching from their wildlife center into the vast universe.

The Bone Yard

A loud commotion from the neighboring pen pulled Cyrano's attention away from his breakfast rat. He watched without fear as Janette and Rebecca, in full fighting gear carried the struggling juvenile vulture passed his pen. He ran to the front of his mews and began pacing the chain link, trying unsuccessfully to catch their attention. Whatever was going on, he wanted in on it.

Neither woman gave him much notice. While Janette's mind was occupied with the day's events, the teenage volunteer was trying not to fog up her goggles or trip on the rough gravel path. They passed Cyrano without a glance, and headed toward the clinic.

"Put him on the table and cover his head so I can draw some blood," said Janette. "Then you can run the panel. He's got a big day ahead of him."

Rebecca was one of those unusually disciplined young persons who had made her decision to become a veterinarian early in life, then worked steadily towards that goal without distraction. She had been volunteering at the wildlife center since high school, and through the early completion of her pre-veterinary courses in college. With strong grades and good recommendations, including one from Dr. Janette Ackermann, she was accepted into vet school right away, and would be starting next year.

Jackie sealed the envelope containing her latest grant proposal. She watched Rebecca lay the vulture on its back, cover its head with the towel to subdue it, and stretch out the long wing so her sister could draw blood from the ulnar vein above the elbow.

Dr. Ackermann hit the vein in one attempt, filling a syringe with dark red blood. Rebecca put the vulture into the nearest cage, and took the blood to the clinic's small lab to run the tests. She was one of few volunteers competent and confident enough to run medical tests without close supervision.

"You're going to miss her come this fall," Jackie said to her sister as they watched the young girl head down the hallway.

"Yeah," said Janette, "but it feels good when one of your own gets accepted to higher education. Rebecca has worked hard."

"Are we still releasing the vulture by the bone yard?" asked Jackie.

"I think it is our best option."

The bone yard was the back edge of Sandra's one-hundred acre exotic animal game farm. It bordered her neighbor's very large, privately owned cattle ranch. According to Sandra, a relative newcomer to the wildlife center, both she and her neighbor deposited dead livestock in the bone yard until a rendering facility could come to collect them.

"Releasing an animal anywhere near a farm is not my first choice," Janette admitted, "but the spot attracts flocks of vultures and other carrion eaters. It's the best chance for finding a wild group that will accept him."

For weeks now the sisters had been comparing the merits and pitfalls of releasing the young bird at the game farm as opposed to a more remote location.

"Large, captive-raised game animals are far more dangerous than any cow," said the concerned animal doctor. "A deer or elk will stomp any animal that comes near it. I'm not sure even an ostrich wouldn't."

"And then there's the farm's dogs to consider," Jackie added. "If the bird lands close to the house they'll kill it for sure."

Janette watched the young vulture in the cage; her expression grim. She agonized over every release. Why, after all, raise an animal only to release it where it could be killed, or become a pest to human neighbors?

"There are no guarantees in life," said Jackie, grabbing her camera. She wanted to feature the release in their next newsletter. "They're getting a second chance just for having been brought to the wildlife center."

"And we've got to do it now, before the vultures migrate south for the winter and we have to keep it in captivity until next spring."

Rebecca walked up behind them, looking worried. "I think this bird is sick. I've run the test several times, all with the same results. His white blood cell count is through-the-roof, twice normal. I think he's got a major infection."

Janette examined the volunteer's results.

"I don't understand." said Rebecca. "He doesn't look or act sick."

Janette smiled. "Think about it. What kind of bird is he?"

"A vulture." Rebecca racked her brain. "Why does that matter?"

"Leukocytes fight off infection. It's normal for a vulture to have a high white cell count. How do you think he can eat what he does?"

"Of course." Rebecca looked relieved. "Everything else is normal."

By late morning the sisters had packed up the vulture and were heading for the exotic game ranch. Jackie turned her car's air conditioner on high. It was late August, and the sun was already beating down on the tiny town of Molalla.

The farm was located in nearby Windy City. They passed a big sign that advertised their tours, exotic meats, and gift shop, and turned down a long driveway, past one of the largest private barns Jackie had ever seen, and towards a new, three-story home. They parked next to a shiny ATV.

Sandra waved to them from the covered veranda that encircled the home. She was thrilled at the chance to attract wildlife to her farm, even the carrion loving vultures.

Jackie noticed, with envy, the no-maintenance, wood-like plastic decking. Sandra's husband, a systems analyst for a large insurance firm, was obviously paid very well.

"I moved the cows and their babies to the front of their double pasture," said Sandra, "so I could close off the back for the vulture."

Janette pointed to a cooler they'd brought with them. "I brought some roosters so he doesn't starve while he's trying to muster up the courage to meet the wild vultures." The roosters were donated by a chicken farmer who'd culled his stock.

The women loaded their crate and the cooler onto the ATV, and headed for the large animal pens. Behind twelve-foot, double fencing, the sisters could see large, heavily-antlered bull elk in a distant pasture. Jackie couldn't help a little shiver of excitement. While these weren't wild elk, the game farm offered an unparalleled opportunity for people to see and appreciate these impressive animals up close.

Janette had been to the game farm before, just after it had opened. The wildlife vet had spent a long morning showing the new farmer how to vaccinate and de-worm her large and dangerous animals. The farm had grown in size and types of animals since then. It now raised deer, elk, ostrich, emu, and llamas, even a few peacocks. The three women had remained friends.

Nervous mamas and babies, popped up and watched the trio as they traveled along the outer fence line, past the barn, to the very back pasture. The animals were used to human spectators.

Sandra stopped the vehicle. She opened the first gate, closing it immediately after they drove through, repeating the process through an even sturdier inner gate.

"The space between the pens is huge," Jackie noted.

"Our alleys have to be tall enough to keep animals in, and large enough for a tractor or a tour bus to get through," Sandra explained. "We run our deer and elk through the alleyways and into the chutes every quarter so we can trap and medicate them. Before breeding season we cut the antlers off most of our males, or they'd be too dangerous to keep."

Sounds like an incredible amount of work, thought Jackie.

"There's the border to the neighbor's cattle farm and the bone yard." Sandra pointed as they stopped about ten feet from the fence line. "We'll keep the mamas and babies in the front pen until he's gone."

Jackie shielded her eyes from the bright sun and looked up at the imposing barrier the young vulture would have to cross to get to the wild flocks. "The vulture is going to need a bit of a running start to fly over that fence."

"Unlike Cyrano, this bird is not an imprint," said Janette, "so it should socialize with the other birds fairly quickly. We're counting on the wild vulture's feeding behaviors to attract it."

"A lot of vultures pass through here." Sandra pointed to a group of the large, dark birds sitting in the nearby trees, their distinguished red heads all turned towards the activity. "But I don't think any of them actually live here."

"Vultures are only loosely communal," said Janette. "They roost together at night, feed, and migrate in a group, but they breed and take care of their young as individual pair bonds."

Sandra reached into the cooler, pulled out a fully feathered rooster carcass, and tossed it to the ground.

Janette shaded her eyes and slowly circled, scanning the distant pens and the house. Were they far enough away?

Sandra wasn't offended. "I know you're worried about the other animals here," she said, "but he'd have to fly pretty far, and in the totally wrong direction, to get into trouble."

"Seems like a fine place." Janette smiled at their hostess. "Want to do the honors?"

Sandra nodded.

Jackie readied her camera. Sometimes an animal comes flying out of the crate. Other times it is so terrified it basically has to be pried out. Neither makes for a good photo.

Janette and Sandra took the crate holding the juvenile vulture out of the ATV, and set it on the ground, door facing the bone yard. Janette stepped back while Sandra opened the box.

Nothing happened.

The terrified bird stayed within the secure confines of the crate. Obviously, Jackie thought, it didn't appreciate the effort everyone had put into finding and securing this release site.

Sandra grabbed the rooster carcass and waved it in front of the open door, then tossed the temptation onto the ground in front of the enclosure.

Not interested.

They waited for several minutes in silence. Absolute silence, except for the buzzing of flies.

Forced ejection it is, Jackie thought, camera pointed and waiting. Her arms were getting tired.

Janette sighed and picked up the crate, tilting it towards the open door. Inside, the bird scrambled to keep a foothold. When her arms strained under the weight, Janette gave the box a forced shake. The surprised vulture slid to the grassy ground with a loud, thrashing clatter. It stretched itself up as tall as it could, mouth agape, wings spread, and stared at its new surroundings. _I'm tough. I'm tough._

The sisters looked for some reaction from the wild vultures, but they seemed more interested in the rooster carcass than in the juvenile vulture. Discretion kept them at bay. The women waited another fifteen minutes, but nothing happened.

"I think we've done all we can for today," said Sandra, brushing away angry flies. The women were starting to sweat from the heat. "Why don't we go to my observation room and watch from there? It's a lot cooler."

Janette hesitated. She'd hoped to see more interest from all parties involved.

It could be worse," her twin reminded her. "They could be attacking him."

"Maybe the wild vultures will come down once we're gone," said Sandra.

With nothing else to be done, the women loaded up and headed back to the house. Sandra poured large glasses of sweet ice tea while they sat in comfortable chairs in a second floor room dominated by a large, viewing scope.

"Wow," said Jackie. The room had large windows on all the outer walls. Every pen was visible, making it easy to observe the animals, most of which lived in large groups; separated from each other by ranch- and barbed-wire.

"The deer and elk cows usually drop their calves in the back pasture where the vulture is in now," said Sandra. "We feed the females in the front. When a new mom leaves her baby to eat, we close the doors between. Now we can safely tag each baby's ear."

"An ingenious system!" Janette looked through the viewing scope and found the juvenile vulture. "You sure have come a long way since last I was here."

Sandra smiled at the compliment. "The cows are finished this year, and all the babies are walking. That's why I was able to close them all in the front pen and make room for the vulture."

The three of them took turns watching the young vulture over the next hour. Neither it nor the wild vultures did much. Disappointed, Jackie and Janette decided to return to the center. Obviously nothing dramatic or wonderful was going to happen today.

Sandra promised to keep a close eye on the juvenile for the next few days, and report its activities.

"We just can't have another Cyrano," Janette told her sister three days later, when Sandra called with still nothing new to report. The juvenile vulture had hardly moved from its original spot although, according to Sandra, its food disappeared. The exotic game farmer brought the vulture a full rooster carcass each day.

"Be patient," said Jackie. "We've got time before the vultures migrate south and we have to figure out another plan of attack."

Janette refused to be consoled. "I'm not sure we'd even be able to catch him. He _is_ fully flighted after all."

"Sandra says more vultures feed at the bone yard every day. At some point a flock will surely take an interest in him."

From her sister's lips to God's ear, Janette prayed.

The next day they got the happy news. The juvenile had finally flown off with a wild flock.

"I left another rooster carcass," Sandra told them over the phone, "just in case."

But Sandra didn't see the young bird again. And, just for good measure, the rooster carcass disappeared too.

_Waste not, want not_...the mantra of any self-respecting vulture.

Escape

"Come quick." Not easily rattled, Jackie's husband Rick looked as urgent as she had ever seen him as he rushed into the animal care clinic one gray and drizzly morning, "Cyrano's making a break for it."

"Please. Not while we have a tour of school kids here," Jackie pleaded with the Fates.

"What happened to Kate?" asked Janette. "She's supposed to be watching him."

Hard on Rick's heels, the sisters entered the barn, only to find total chaos.

Nearly thirty grade school kids of various ages were packed in the alley-way, laughing. Jackie and Janette pushed their way through the crowd to see Cyrano and John battling each other in the center aisle. And the seventy-year-old volunteer looked to be losing.

"He untied his leash and started to fly after the kids," said John. He fought to hang onto the bird's tether, grabbing and releasing the leash with one hand, then the other, trying in vain to avoid claws and beak snapping at his arms and face.

Cassie struggled to keep the kids at a safe distance from the scuffle.

Jackie pointed to an open stall immediately to their right, Janette to one on the left. Both pens were empty. Why hadn't the men just thrown the bird into any one of them? Not in the melee himself, at least Rick should have known what to do.

John tossed the flurry of beak and feathers to the left, and Janette pushed the door closed. Cyrano flew to the nearest perch and rousted himself in a huff. The kids cheered.

"I was only gone for a minute." Kate's cheeks were nearly as red as her beanie when she finally appeared at the barn door.

No one said anything to the errant volunteer in front of the kids. Cassie pressed on, minimizing the event. "We're obviously having a little trouble keeping Cyrano's leash on. He's learned to untie the knots."

"Was he trying to attack us?" one of the younger kids asked, not looking particularly afraid.

"No." Cassie was matter-of-fact. "He was trying to follow us," she said. "And I'm fairly certain the bus driver wouldn't approve."

Several of the students giggled as Cassie pushed them onto the rest of their tour.

Jackie and Janette took a closer look at their elderly volunteer. John was bleeding from various minor cuts on his hands and arms.

"I didn't even see the empty pens," said John sheepishly. "I guess I'd better stick to tinkering."

Jackie shot her husband an accusing look, while forcing a smile. "You're a handyman, not an animal caretaker," she said to John, "And Cyrano's gotten the better of a few of them." Rick laughed, dodging his wife's sharp glance.

"Let's treat your injuries," said Janette. She led John back to the clinic, with Rick in tow.

Jackie glanced at the group now in front of Casey's pen. Distracted by the raccoon's antics, the minor skirmish was already history. She turned to Cyrano, sitting huffily on a perch. "What's with you?" she asked their buzzard. "I know this place isn't the Ritz, but it's not San Quentin either." To emphasize her point, Jackie looked around at the center's large, two-story barn, overlooking cobwebs too high to reach to clean were covered in years of dust and stretched across every light panel.

Cyrano ignored her, smoothing his ruffled feathers by running them though his beak. She knew he preferred to be outside, but he could just stay in the barn stall. He had forfeited his stake-out privileges, as far as she was concerned. Jackie brushed herself off, and headed for the clinic.

"I don't see any serious cuts," said Janette. "But we don't want any infections."

John winced as the veterinarian applied antiseptic. Bandages patch-worked his arms when he and Rick returned to their project in the barn. Neither said a word about the _incident_ with Cyrano. Even men who tease each other regularly have an innate ability to leave it be when they do something really stupid, Jackie noted. Something a few women could learn. "Kate must not have tied Cyrano's leash properly," she said to her sister.

"I'm not so sure," said Janette. "We've caught him pulling at the knots on several occasions. He's just never managed to get them untied."

"There's always a first time," said Jackie.

Unfortunately, it was not the last. Cyrano's second escape would be far more successful.

Jackie walked over to her sister. "We've got an inventory situation if you've got a minute?"

Janette grabbed a couple mugs of coffee, and they moved outside to the wildlife center's front deck for a little privacy. She knew what her twin was going to say before she had a chance to say it. The wildlife center was taking care of a higher than normal number of baby raptors, and their food supply was again in question.

Cyrano was staked on the lawn so he could enjoy the sun. As usual, he was picking at his jesses. He raised his head when he saw the two women. When they didn't come over, he turned to stare off into the distance. The grass is always greener, Jackie thought.

"Our mouse supply seems a little short," said Jackie. "We may have to start raising our own."

Janette winced. "I'd rather not to have to clean and care for more feeder mice," she said. "Not only is it a smelly job, it's hard for volunteers to avoid becoming attached to them."

AWF used feeder-mice as needed to test patient's hunting or cognitive skills before release. Jackie took a sip of her coffee. "We may not have a choice."

"We're going to have to feed out carefully to make our supply of mouse carcasses last," Janette said. "We can't afford to waste anything."

Jackie dropped the subject, but Janette knew they would have to approach the necessity of raising more mice again.

The sisters watched the vulture in silence. Cyrano seemed very preoccupied, but Janette couldn't see what with. The vulture continued to pick at his jesses.

"He will eventually stop pulling at the knots, right?" Jackie asked her sister.

"As soon as he realizes he can't untie them," said Janette. "Today I tied them myself. I'm sure they're correct, and tight."

But Cyrano had other ideas. The vulture jumped clear of his ground perch, pulling his leash taut. Then, as if by themselves, his restraints untied, and he was airborne. The industrious bird, with nothing better to do than work on his fetters, had escaped for a second time.

The twins jumped up, stunned, watching in horror as the vulture rose high into the sky, tether trailing behind. Janette flung a hope after Cyrano that he would be sensible enough to land near his pen, and breakfast.

Cyrano had no intention of being reasonable. He lazily circled the wildlife center a few times, climbing higher and higher, then turned toward the small town.

The sisters ran into the clinic. Janette grabbed a pair of leather gloves while her twin snatched car keys. They tore out of the parking lot and turned down their long drive, kicking up gravel in their wake. But following the large bird was a challenge. Without traffic, a speed limit, or stop signs, the buzzard had a decided advantage, and they soon lost him.

When the twins finally returned to the clinic, they both feared the worst. The odds of finding a fully flighted bird were slim. "What if he gets his leash caught on something?" asked Janette. "He'll die of exposure while hanging where no one will find him." Janette's face was pale and tense with worry. She struggled _not_ to imagine the vulture trapped on a power line or tangled in the branches of a tree or bush.

Pushing back the same thoughts, Jackie's voice was firm. "Let's not go there just yet." She turned on her computer. "We haven't made any real effort to find him." In less than half an hour, she created a 'Lost Vulture' flier, complete with a picture of Cyrano. Focusing on the work steadied her nerves.

The women spent the rest of the morning passing fliers around the town. Soon there were notices in nearly every shop and business. Most of town folk remembered Cyrano from his frequent appearances at local events and were very willing to help.

By noon, Janette and Jackie returned to the wildlife center to wait for phone calls. In the few hours it took to blanket Molalla with fliers, no one had reported seeing the bird.

There was a strange silence at AWF. Without their first and most active Animal Ambassador, the wildlife center seemed a lonelier place. The volunteers, finished with their schedules and unable to help, had all gone home. As most wildlife slept during the day, it was as though the center held its breath, along with the sisters.

"If we ever find him," Janette swore, barely containing her tears, "I'll never tether him out again." Every minute Cyrano remained lost was agony, as they knew the fate that awaited the imprint vulture if he was not be found.

Keeping busy with mindless chores, they waited by the phone and prayed.

It was late that afternoon when AWF was contacted by the local fire department. "We got a call from a man claiming he's got a buzzard on a leash on his front porch," the fire chief told the wildlife veterinarian. "Your flier says you're missing one?"

"Thank goodness," said Janette. "Has he got the bird trapped?"

"Yup. He says he stepped on the leash until his wife could find something heavy to put on it." The fireman gave her the address. "He's expecting you straight away."

"We'll be right there." Relief washed over them as she thanked him profusely. "Cyrano's just three blocks away," she told her sister, grabbing a pair of gloves.

"Begging for food, no doubt." Jackie picked up a crate, and her car keys.

Fifteen minutes later the women were standing in front of a modest, single story home. Cyrano stood in the middle of the unkempt front yard, surrounded by a group of people. A couple of large bricks kept him on a short leash, just out of reach of his onlookers. Several of the guests were drinking beers and laughing, snapping photos of their unusual visitor. "This is going to be great on my Facebook page," they heard someone say.

When Cyrano saw his caretakers, he turned to them expectantly. _So,_ w _here have you been?_

"It's the darnedest thing," a pleasant, but disheveled older man said. "He looks like he wants something."

Cyrano blinked innocently. _I'm hungry_.

With as little ceremony as possible, Janette collected their vulture.

Like an errant child, the imprint bird seemed oblivious to the worry he'd caused. Still, he was happy to be home again after his short lived adventure, and pounced on his dinner as soon as Janette removed his jesses.

"I'm definitely going to have to rethink these." Janette examined the standard ties, her mind engaged in problem solving.

Evening was approaching, and the wildlife center residents began to stir. It was as if the center's heart had started beating again. A soft breeze blew through, like a quiet exhale.

Cyrano wasn't allowed outdoor privileges again until Janette had redesigned his jesses and leash. A heavy snap replaced the ties. In fact, thanks to Cyrano, who had proved too clever for his own good, none of the center's winged Animal Ambassadors were ever able to release themselves from their restraints again.

Advanced Warning

Icy tendrils snaked themselves around Jackie's insides as she turned into the wildlife center parking lot. She shivered, unable to shake a feeling of dread all morning. Turning off her car, she sat in for a moment, watching another dreary day, overcast and drizzling through her front windshield. It's cold, she thought. But the weather wasn't unusual for Oregon. No, that wasn't the source of her disquiet.

Her mind went back on their weekly meeting to review progress at the wildlife center. AWF business marched on as expected. Janette hadn't even reported any critical patients. Cyrano hadn't eaten for a couple of days, but while that was unusual, it was not as yet worrisome.

The animals at the wildlife center were frequently overfed, she told herself. Most of the volunteers weren't too concerned with the animal's weights. This was particularly true for Cyrano, who was often fed not only his own meal, but other animals' leftovers. She was surprised he didn't leave food more often. Jackie tried to shake off the vague apprehension.

Janette's car was already there. It was Sunday morning, a day most of the residents at the wildlife center were fasted, and the veterinarian took care of the wildlife center by herself.

Over the years they'd discovered a fast day is physically and psychologically beneficial for most of the animals. Wild carnivores crop up, or gorge, when they kill, so they can last until their next meal. Daily fed animals tend to graze. Without hunger, captive predators quickly lose their mental edge, and became fat and lazy.

A cold, damp wind engulfed Jackie as soon as she got out of the car. It matched the chill that filled the center of her being as she headed to the clinic.

AWF's admitting room was eerily quiet. Where's the music? Janette usually turns on background music to keep her company on Sundays, thought Jackie. There's no water running in the sink, no clatter of utensils preparing food. Something was wrong...very wrong.

Jackie heard her sister moving about in the treatment room.

"Hurry. I need help." The edge in her sister's voice made Jackie drop her purse and papers on her desk, and rush into the treatment room. Cloud Spirit lay pale and shivering on the table. The large bald eagle offered no complaint as Jackie threw on protective gear, and took the bird's legs from her sister. They were all but limp. The strongest bird on the premise offered little resistance.

Jackie stretched out one of the bird's broad wings so Janette could insert a catheter into the ulnar bone. The veterinarian administered intra-osseous lactated ringers. Jackie picked up the eagle, wrapping her arms around it. The veterinarian forced a long rubber tube down Cloud's throat, pushed its rubber end onto the tip of a syringe loaded with oral charcoal, and pushed the noxious black mix into the bird's belly.

Jackie felt the blood drain from her face. That treatment protocol meant possible poisoning. Had someone stolen into the wildlife center during the night and poisoned Cloud? Her heart clenched as she looked around the room. For the first time, she noticed the treatment room was full, holding nearly every animal they had at the wildlife center. Some were sitting hunched on the floor of their cages. Others were worse, lying down, near dead. "My God, what happened?" she whispered.

"We must have got a bad batch of mice and rat carcasses."

Jackie looked at her twin's tight face. In a lifetime of caring for wildlife, Jackie had never experienced anything like this. AWF relies on mice and rats procured from research facilities, as well as private owners culling their colonies, to feed their animals. The wildlife center must have received some that were slotted for disposal, a rare but unavoidable risk, or they had been stored improperly somewhere along the way.

"The mammals are fine, right?" Jackie asked. "They eat mostly donated pet food."

Janette nodded. "So are the songbirds, waterfowl, and other species that eat worms or seeds."

The twins worked as fast as they could. Large and small, each bird-of-prey was given intravenous and sub-cutaneous fluids to flush out toxins, followed by oral activated charcoal to prevent additional absorption of the poisons. The most debilitated ones were placed under heat lamps or on heating pads.

Day became night. For the next twenty-four hours, one by one, the sisters treated every raptor at the center, patient and permanent alike; except Cyrano. Somehow, their vulture had been spared. By early Monday morning, the crisis seemed over, and through some miracle, not a single animal had died. Most of them were already back in their pens, although it would be a couple of days before some of them would eat again.

When the last patient was recovering in its cage, Jackie handed her sister a fresh cup of coffee. The warmth calmed their nerves, the caffeine rejuvenated them.

"I worried about Cyrano, because he hadn't eaten in a couple of days," said Janette. "He's been agitated all weekend." She took another sip, hand shaking. "So I came in early. As I walked the Nature Trail to his pen to check on him, I saw a lot of the animals lying on the floor."

"Why didn't you call me?" Jackie looked at her sister's tired face, essentially a mirror of her own. They looked very much alike, except she usually wore her hair smoothed and long, while her twin's occupation forced her to pull hers into a ponytail.

"I knew you were already coming in." Janette shrugged her shoulders. "Besides, I had to start treatments immediately or we could have lost them all."

Jackie shook her head. "We've never had an entire batch of bad mice and rats."

"You know what they say about _never_."

Jackie cringed. "I know. Then you've not been doing it long enough."

The doctor relaxed for the first time since the crises began. "Despite the scare," she said, "we were lucky."

"Why don't I feel lucky?"

"No one died," said Janette, "and it's not likely to ever happen again."

Not one to believe in jinxes, Jackie was still surprised her sister had even suggested a recurrence of the last couple of days.

"I still need to review our feeding protocols to see if we can avoid anything like this in the future."

The front door slammed. Jackie looked at her watch. The volunteers were late again. Today she was glad of it, grateful none of them had been present during the crisis.

Volunteers know animals can die of their injuries, despite the best of efforts. Most of them couldn't handle the guilt, however unfounded, of having dished out that death.

Jackie could almost hear her sister's mind as the veterinarian watched the volunteers begin their chores for the day, oblivious of the near disaster. Had the Saturday volunteers fed the bad batch of mice? Had they missed a bad odor or color to the carcasses? Was there anything _to_ notice?

"Let's get Cloud outside," said Janette. "She should be fine now, and I know she'll be a lot happier in her own pen."

Jackie put her protective gear back on and pulled the bald eagle out of the clinic cage. The animal found enough strength to struggle as the wildlife caregiver trapped the bird securely in her arms. Janette followed her to the large bird's flight pen. The sun was finally beginning to burn through the overcast that had shrouded the wildlife center the entire weekend. Cloud flew to the top perch, wobbling slightly as she turned to watch them with her good eye.

"I want to check on Cyrano," said Janette.

The vulture blinked at them from the floor of his pen. Last night's dinner lay on the ground, ignored. Janette picked up the rat carcass.

"You think he knew something was wrong with the food?" Jackie put into words what they were both thinking.

"Maybe he smelled something funny," said Janette. "Or he just coincidentally wasn't hungry."

Jackie shook her head. "The whole weekend?" She knew her sister was inclined to believe in premonition only as a remote possibility.

By the time they got back to the clinic, the volunteers had caught up with their week's gossip and were ready for daily rounds. Janette dropped Cyrano's abandoned rat carcass onto the exam table to dissect later, then gave them a much sanitized description of the weekend's occurrences. "We're going to have to tube feed a high calorie liquid diet to some of our birds for a couple of days," she said, "until they start eating on their own. It'll be a lot easier for them to digest." She marked those animals that would need extra care on the board.

Jackie rubbed her eyes and decided to go home for a couple of hours of sleep. Her husband would have a nice warm breakfast waiting for her.

From that time, every person who prepared animal food was regularly reminded to look for anything suspicious.

If there are any questions, ask. If there is any doubt, throw it out.

To date, the wildlife center has never lost an animal to bad food.

A Special Kind of Healing

Janette put her pen down and stretched. The veterinary emergency of the last couple of days had necessitated a small mountain of paperwork to record the food poisoning, veterinary care, and recommended treatment for each affected animal. She frowned at the charts, pushed them away, and decided to file them another day.

"Why don't you take a break and go home for a couple of hours?" Cassie hadn't even been fazed by the mess strewn all over the clinic when she'd walked in for her shift that morning. With her unwavering good nature, the volunteer prepared what they would need to feed and clean the animals, then turned on some upbeat music, and set about cleaning tables, sinks, counters, cages, and floors. "By the time you get back, I'll have the place spotless."

Janette looked around the shabby room, with its mostly donated furniture, and sighed. "We really did make a mess." Medical supply wrappers and dirty instruments lay scattered in every one of their small rooms. Almost every cage stood open, demanding to be cleaned. The familiar wish for the resources to modernize their small veterinary clinic flitted through her head. But even the most modern clinic didn't self-clean, and she was so tired, she didn't even know where to start.

Sorely tempted to go home and take a hot shower, Janette decided against it. If the last few days had proved anything, it's that you never know what the next day will bring. Better not to put anything off. "I still have to update our policies and procedures manual." She turned on the computer and pulled up the document. "I'd rather get the paperwork done while it's all still fresh in my mind. Besides, I'm too keyed up to relax anyway."

The fifty-something brunette shrugged her shoulders and smiled before squeezing excess water from her rag and proceeding to clean the cages, scrubbing bars and walls with disinfectant. When Janette finished her computer work an hour or so later, she found Cassie in the animal care room still scrubbing cages, humming. Her lyrical tone was gentle and soothing, yet somehow distant and otherworldly.

Cassie is the kind of person everyone wants to be around, thought Janette. Warm and uplifting. Positive, yet practical. Cassie lives every moment, as they say, like it could be her last. The doctor smiled and scrubbed her instruments clean in the sink, setting them on the counter to dry. She preferred to spend her time with the volunteer and the animals, than with her computer. Her charts could wait.

The morning after the crisis was blessedly quiet, like the calm after a storm. Without interruption, the women were able to clean the treatment and animal care rooms in only a couple of hours. Another volunteer finished caring for the animals in the barn and on the Nature Trail, and left early.

"I noticed surgery is also a mess," said Cassie. "I can help you clean it, if you show me how."

"I had to debride an abscess on a weasel Friday," Janette said, "and haven't had a chance to clean up." Not many volunteers venture into surgery, and the task would take them well past Cassie's scheduled shift. It sure would be nice to have the whole place clean and put together though, she thought. "Are you sure?"

For the next hour Janette walked the petite volunteer through sorting, cleaning and sterilizing surgical instruments.

"Sharps, such as needles and scalpel blades, go into this red container for appropriate disposal," said the veterinarian. "We don't want anyone getting jabbed with a needle."

"People can't get AIDS or hepatitis from an animal, can they?"

"No," Janette assured her, "but there are plenty of other infections to be concerned with."

Cassie pointed to a silver metal box with a small vault-like door sitting on the corner table. "This looks like a safe with a pressure cooker gauge."

"It's a very old autoclave," said Janette. "Actually, our third or fourth machine. We've had several smaller machines donated—too small to sterilize a full surgical pack."

"That wasn't particularly helpful," said Cassie.

Janette laughed. "This one came without an instruction manual."

"Oh dear," said Cassie. "I have a hard time learning how to use things _with_ instructions."

"It is such an old machine I didn't know how to run it," said Janette. "I called every medical equipment company in the book, but couldn't find anyone familiar with this device."

"How could you tell if it even worked?"

"I couldn't." Janette chuckled. "And I was afraid to experiment—it uses heat and humidity under high pressure, after all."

"Sometimes you can find instruction manuals on the internet," Cassie offered.

"Rick tried that. No luck. Eventually I found a medical instrument repair company with an employee old enough to remember this model. She talked me through using it, after assuring me I wasn't going to blow up the clinic up in the process."

Cassie laughed. "That's something I am sure Jackie wouldn't have approved of."

She knows my sister well, thought Janette. Janette drained the machine and added clean distilled water to the chamber. She pointed to black knobs above the heavy, steel door. "One sets the temperature, the other the time."

By the time the machine's old-fashioned bell announced it was finished sterilizing instruments, the two women had made short work of the surgery room. It was clean and ready to save another life.

Before she left for the day, Janette decided another walk-around was in order. She grabbed a hardboiled egg and some treats from the refrigerator. Pen by pen, she checked every animal at the wildlife center. They were clean and comfortable, apparently none the worse for their experience with food poisoning.

In the rehab barn: Casper, their barn owl, stared from atop his nesting box. Sandy, their Cooper's hawk hopped onto her overturned bucket, flicking her tail excitedly. Their small screech and saw-whet owls slept peacefully among the branches of the old Christmas trees set up in their stalls last winter. Everyone was recovering nicely. The atmosphere was calm and relaxing. No fear. No blame. That's wildlife for you, Janette thought. In nature it's move on or die.

She continued her tour outside. Started up their Nature Trail, she blinked as her eyes adjusted to the sunlight. I wish I could move on as easily. This job is harder than I realized it would be. The death rate for traumatized animals, despite our best efforts, is discouraging. Collecting the finances and necessary resources is an uphill battle. Even helping volunteers resolve their many personal issues is draining.

Her sister called her part therapist, part guidance counselor. I guess I am, she thought. She let herself into Jerome's pen. The skunk's front paws climbed up her leg, as he begged for a treat. She handed him a few grapes, and patted his head.

Janette was tired, but the sojourn was soothing. "I need to do this more often." However, when the skunk was done with his snack, he was done with her. He nipped at her fingers, before turning and walking to his sleeping spot under the bathtub. "Not that you'd let me," she sighed.

She locked the pen. It doesn't help that every person who comes here thinks I have the best job in the world, she thought, as if wildlife medicine was nothing but playing with cute animals. She continued down the path, checking on each animal. Casey huffed at her. The raccoon knew exactly who delivered annual vaccinations. Cloud honked at her, ready to bate if she decided to enter the eagle's pen.

Wild animals, no matter how long they live in captivity, always remain suspicious. Touching them is always risky business, and no matter how necessary not particularly appreciated. Janette ended at Cyrano's pen.

Sitting on his high platform, the vulture cocked his head and stared at her with bright, inquisitive eyes. Janette went into his pen and sat along the side wall. She knew better than to give Cyrano her back. The vulture jumped to the floor and walked up to her. He'd already been fed and cleaned. She had neither gloves, nor crate.

_What's up_?

Janette peeled the hardboiled egg, then rolled it his way.

Cyrano's eye lit up. _I love eggs_. He moved it around until he got it into the right position, then started stripping away the white to get at the tasty yolk. Janette had seen the ritual many times. Only when the entire yolk was devoured, did the vulture eat the egg white. It wasn't long before there was hardly a crumb left.

"Waste not want not." Janette smiled at the bird. "You are the only raptor I know that likes hard boiled eggs."

Cyrano spread his wings to catch the sunlight. It glistened off iridescent black feathers.

Janette felt better. His unique brand of healing was working.

Efforts and Events

"He still doesn't want to use his leg." Ray brushed a hand through his mass of tight, red curls. With a short, but full red beard, and green tunic-style shirt, the man looked part Viking raider, part Robin Hood.

Janette showed the appropriate amount of concern when she took the unhappy falconer to their treatment room, and motioned him to place his small crate on the exam table.

"It's been weeks, and he still lays on the ground a lot." Ray removed his heavy leather jacket and dropped it onto the exam table next to the beat up crate. "I was hoping to hunt him again before the season is over for the year."

"I'm not surprised." Janette forced a smile. "You can't push him. It _was_ a major surgery after all, and it still hurts." The wildlife veterinarian had surgically repaired the badly broken femur on the man's small Harris hawk more than a month ago. She knew a wild bird would be using the leg by now, but Harry was a captive-raised hawk, not afraid of starving or of being killed. Both would have been strong motivators to get back in the game.

Ray frowned. "At this rate I'm not sure he'll ever use the leg again."

"You know this particular species of hawk hunts in groups, right?" Janette hoped she could make the man rethink how he would use the bird. "When they go after something bigger, like a rabbit, the males band together to chase the prey for the much larger females to kill."

Ray didn't seem to attempt to process what she was saying. All right, she thought, I'll be more direct. "Harry's _too small_ to kill a rabbit by himself. The man who gave him to you should have told you that." Janette was fairly certain the previous owner had. How else would Ray know the bird's short history?

This was the second time Harry had broken his leg. The former owner had also wanted to hunt rabbits, with the same sad result. After a large veterinary bill, the falconer had likely given the small bird to the first person who couldn't afford to buy a bird for himself, essentially abandoning it.

Janette studied Ray's craggy face. The not unkind man had obviously jumped at the opportunity, vainly hoping the injury was due to a misstep on the bird's part. It was not. Harry's leg was broken again the very next season when the rabbit he attacked thrashed out with its hindquarters and snapped the small bird's leg. With no money to spend, Ray had brought Harry to the wildlife center. The bird was only four years old.

"The break was very serious," said the veterinarian, "much closer to the joint than the last time." Dr. Ackermann had been reluctant to perform the extensive procedure in the first place. This bird was not native to Oregon, even in the unlikely possibility he might ever be released. And, as a nonprofit, the wildlife center could not compete with a for-profit veterinary practice, which is where this bird should have been taken. But Janette knew without veterinary care Harry would have needed to be euthanized. "If he breaks his leg again," she warned, "he'll likely need to be put down."

Ray scowled. He reached into the bird's crate.

Harry hesitated. The bird remembered his first visit to AWF. Surgery and its after care had hurt...a lot! The hawk also knew however, that if he didn't get up this blonde person in a white coat might hurt him again. With no real choice, Harry hopped onto Ray's fist, and allowed himself to be taken out of the crate.

Ray stuttered. "Wow, at home he won't use that leg at all."

"Fear is a great motivator," said Janette. She was pleased with what she saw on examination, and called her volunteer from the kitchen. "Which limb was injured?"

Beth shrugged. As far as anyone could see, the bird didn't favor either leg.

Janette finished her exam, and Harry was happy to return to the safety of his crate. The veterinarian pulled a bottle from the treatment room cupboard, and counted out a few small pills. "I'm giving you a little more pain medication for him, but you're going to need to give him more time to recover."

"I can't thank you enough." Ray's broad smile could use some dental work. He picked up the crate and headed for the clinic door.

Janette looked at the small hawk through the bars, wondering if she'd truly helped the animal. If the bird hadn't healed quite so well he might be better off. She was fairly certain Ray would hunt him again, this year or next, and for rabbit.

Ray paused at the front door. "I've talked to my Antique Auto Club about putting on a fund-raising event for the wildlife center," he said. "And they seem very interested."

You _will not_ rise and betray me, Janette demanded of her surprised eyebrows. How can a person who can't afford a veterinary bill afford an antique car? "Really?" She tried to be excited. At least once a year, when someone is unwilling or unable to pay even a portion of the veterinary services rendered, they want to help by putting on an event to raise funds. While well intended, these soirees usually result in a lot more work than funds.

"I'm bringing it up again at this month's meeting."

"Let me know what they decide," she said.

Jackie was as unenthusiastic about the possibility of another event as her twin had expected. "Events work best with a budget, a good location, and lots of volunteers," she said. "And a strong donor base."

Cyrano lay on the exam room table awaiting his bi-annual exam and maintenance. He growled his disapproval. Jackie had secured the bird's wings to his body in a tightly wrapped towel. She laid him on his back, waiting while her sister gathered the equipment they needed for today's exam. Over Cyrano's towel-encased body, they continued to argue the merits of the proposed fund raising event. "We collected less than half the start-up money we expected. We could really use the money. It's been hard to operate with so much less," Janette said.

Jackie sighed. Most of their initial funding had been collected from family, friends, and business associates who, while supportive, weren't exactly wealthy. Cyrano thrashed his legs wildly before she shifted her grip from his body to trap them.

Janette pulled out a stethoscope, a syringe, a cotton swab, a canine toe nail clipper, and a small rotary grinder. She looked into her twin sister's eyes, already knowing what was written there. They both wondered whether starting their wildlife center had been a mistake But even thought that thought crossed their minds occasionally, they were not quick to give up on their dreams.

Jackie studied their reception room. The double-wide manufactured home that served as their clinic was vintage 1970s; the walls covered in dark composite paneling; the office furniture a mix of donated desks with unmatched chairs, dented metal file cabinets, and an outdated TV/VCR.

It's true what they say, she thought, your surroundings affect your mood. She scowled.

"Admit it," Janette looked past her sister's sour face. "You love the work as much as I do, no matter how hard the business has become." She knew her sister couldn't give up any more than she could. But the truth was, the general downturn of the economy only a few years after starting their business, was hitting them hard. For every donation they managed to secure, expenses and requests for services went up as much or more.

Cyrano struggled against restraint, growling at them. Jackie tightened her grip. When the bird relaxed again, Janette clipped and shaped the vulture's long toe nails. Snip, snip, snip. It didn't take long to trim off any excess growth.

Jackie tightened her grip again when the bird tried to scrape away her hands with sharp claws. "Settle down," she warned. "I'd think you'd appreciate the twice-a-year pedicures. I know I would." Jackie sighed. Mani-pedis were something she didn't allow herself. When I'm old and gray, she thought _,_ and can't bend over to reach my toes. She shook the bird's feet to get his attention. "It's not like you can wear them down naturally in your pen."

Janette plugged in her grinding tool, ready to smooth jagged edges. "Ray's event could work," she said. "The Antique Automobile Club puts on these cruises once a year, and he says there's a fairly certain minimum turnout."

But Jackie wasn't nearly as optimistic as her sister. To date, the wildlife center had attempted three fund-raising events, including an art show and two music events. Neither had been well attended.

"We need more than the attendance of one club. Do you think other clubs or the general public will attend?" Jackie considered the wildlife center's remote location. "The few months a year here in Oregon that aren't raining are filled with events, one in nearly every neighborhood."

"Locals and car enthusiasts will," said Janette, "Especially if we have it at an interesting place. Sandra has agreed to host the event at her exotic game farm. That's unique enough to draw interest from both the general public and the media." She flipped on the rotary grinder and began trimming Cyrano's nails to a nice, rounded finish. The noise and acrid smell of nail dust stopped their conversation.

The longer Jackie thought about it, the less she could deny the venue had promise. "I suppose it's as good as any event we've tried so far," she said when her sister finished with the power tool. Still, she was less optimistic than her partner. Jackie had helped other non-profits put on large fund-raising events. These soirees relied heavily on manpower and up-front money for the location, entertainment, and food. They had neither.

Janette wet a wash cloth with warm water and began to clean the vulture's feet, checking any callouses carefully for any swelling or infection.

Cyrano didn't appreciate the effort. He jerked his head down and tried to bite the veterinarian.

"Hey, that's not nice," Jackie scolded. "I'd think you'd appreciate a good foot massage." By now the bird's body wrap had loosened a bit, and Cyrano struggled to free his wings. Jackie held the vulture's body against the table with her arms. "There's always nail polish if you don't quit complaining," she threatened. Cyrano stopped and stared at her, blinking.

Janette snickered.

"Sandra's hosting the event at no charge to the wildlife center?" Jackie was amazed at how much effort her sister had already invested. Where Janette was the 'heart' of the organization, her twin was the more practical 'head' of it. And her head was still screaming at her. _Be careful_. "Most of our volunteers have little experience with, and usually avoid anything to do with, fund-raising," she said. "They're here to be with the animals."

Janette nodded. "It's amazing how many of them prefer the company of animals to that of people."

"I think it's more or less that they're around people all the time," said Jackie. "Most people have so much going on with work, family, school, church, and so on, they don't have the time or the energy it takes to put on one of these kinds of fund-raisers."

"Events _are_ a lot of work." Janette agreed, grabbing the rotary grinder again. "Time to trim his beak."

Jackie flinched. Okay, she thought, you've got a right to complain about this part. She shifted positions, grabbing the back of Cyrano's head in one hand, holding his legs in the other.

The vulture stared at Janette in horror as she grabbed his beak, forcing his mouth open. _No way. Not the dentist._ He shook his head violently, stretching his body as long as it could reach, but his blonde oppressors had him securely captive.

Little by little, and with much protest, the veterinarian ground and shaped the vulture's beak.

While Janette concentrated on her sculpting, Jackie reviewed their past efforts at fund raising events. Even with donated art and music, and as much volunteer help as they could muster, none of them had generated much income, particularly when you divided that income by the number of man-hours it took to put them on.

Plus, putting on an outdoor event in Oregon is always risky, she thought. She tried to scratch her nose with her shoulder. Even in the summer it could rain, or be over one-hundred degrees.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" Janette moved the rotary grinder and clippers to the counter behind her. "And look how handsome again," she told the vulture.

Cyrano shook his head and coughed, trying to rid himself of any beak dust left in his mouth. Jackie loosened the towel that bound him and let him collect his dignity before stretching out one of his long wings.

Using a syringe, Janette collected a blood sample from the ulnar vein almost before the bird could react. She swabbed the cloaca for a fecal sample, then listened to his heart and lungs through her stethoscope. "Sounds good," she said, slinging the instrument around her neck. "You're done for another six months."

Jackie deposited the vulture into a cage. The volunteer would return him to his mews and feed him breakfast. She washed her hands and poured them a cup of coffee.

Clean-up after an exam didn't take long, and Janette followed her sister to their one, small office to finally finish their broken conversation. "According to Ray," she said, "the Antique Automobile Club has nearly five hundred members. If even half the group attends the cruise, we could actually earn a little money to help the animals."

Jackie's brain zipped from one thought to another. So many variables could affect the outcome. If this event succeeded, it could be the start of a prosperous annual fund raising effort—something they could really use.

"I've got a volunteer who says her boss would be willing to print our posters," said Janette. "Another one who says her husband is tight with the band scene and can get a local band to donate entertainment."

"You really have been working on this, haven't you?" Jackie squirmed. She was starting to feel the pressure of another event coming on.

"Another volunteer says her social group will collect donated items

"Do these volunteers have names?" It hadn't passed Jackie's notice that her sister was being vague. Twins, especially those as connected and Jackie and Janette were, don't often get much past each other.

Janette took a sip of her coffee before speaking. "I don't think it's wise to say until the help they're speaking for actually commit."

"You said Ray is willing to organize the event." Jackie wrote a few notes. "Usually these motor clubs include a poker run."

"What's a poker run?"

"The course to the wildlife center will be a circuitous one." Jackie had helped organize a poker run when she worked for the animal shelter. "It's actually a lot of fun. Passengers pick up poker cards from stops along the way. Whoever has the best hand by the time they get to the event wins a prize."

The sisters sat for a moment in silence. The event suddenly became more real for the veterinarian, now that she had swayed her partner. "Of course we're swamped with animal care at that time too," Janette pursed her lips.

During the summer months the wildlife center staff and volunteers are busy raising orphaned wildlife, in addition to any injured animals that need their help. A fund raising event would add pressure to an already busy time of year.

"I guess we can't really afford to say no, can we?" said Jackie. She heard Cyrano hiss at the volunteer who'd come to return him to his pen.

"Whatever happens," Janette said, "we'll get through it together."

"We have to," her sister agreed. Dreams are relentless.

Wildlife Rhythms

"The news crew will be here any time now." A breeze blew strands of Jackie's hair into her face. Pushing them behind her ear, she checked her low heeled shoes for mud, or anything else that might have glued itself to her footwear. The wildlife center manager was dressed in a smart but casual pantsuit, appropriate for an outdoor event at an exotic game farm.

"Did we have to be here at 4:30 in the morning?" Beth rubbed her sleepy eyes, searching for the dawn in the rosy overcast sky. "It's going to be pretty hot today."

Jackie inhaled the musty air, grounding herself in the not unpleasant smell of fresh hay and animals. She was accustomed to mornings that started before dawn. It had been a regular part of her job at the animal shelter, where she had been public relations director, and preparing for the early morning news was an almost weekly occurrence. Of course that was before she had moved to Oregon and started a wildlife center with her twin sister.

A scuffle at the wildlife center's information booth caught her attention. Janette was struggling to stake Cyrano to a ground perch. The vulture snapped at her twin sister, probably hungry and irritated at being called to service at the crack of dawn. Jackie sighed. Sometimes she missed working on behalf of domestic animals, who were generally a lot friendlier than wildlife.

"We're just not used to this." Beth pulled Jackie from her revere. The volunteer pointed out that she and her husband had retired several years ago and, according to her, didn't watch the clock very often any more. In fact, several of the volunteers had rolled in later than expected this morning.

"I can't believe _Wildlife Rhythms_ is going to be on _Good Morning Oregon,"_ Beth said, arching her eyebrows and nodding her approval.

Jackie rubbed her hands together to calm her nerves. "It's been a while since I've been in front of a television camera." But Beth had already gone. Jackie watched her volunteer head back to the auction table. "I hope it's like riding a bike," she finished to herself.

Jackie scanned the scene, pleased. By now even most of the latecomers had arrived, and it was a hub of activity. Everyone was excited to be on television. Having Portland's number one morning newscast promote the event was quite a coup, she thought, especially since the wildlife center couldn't afford much advertising. Between the free radio and television public service announcements, and the _Good Morning Oregon_ spot, most of Oregon was sure hear about their weekend event.

"I'm glad it's you in front of the camera, not me." Janette stashed her gloves and goggles under the draped table, lest anyone think their grumpy Animal Ambassador was a hostage rather than a pampered permanent resident. "We're set up and ready to go."

Jackie checked out the portable tent that was their information booth. Animal prints walked up each leg of the canopy to bold vinyl lettering along all four edges. There was no mistaking whose tent it was.

Janette's eyes followed her sister's. "Olivia did such a great job decorating our tent," she said. "It's quite an improvement." One of their more artistic volunteers had upgraded the appearance of what had been a very modest set-up.

Jackie rechecked her list. "The schedule says there will be several live spots, a total of nearly twenty minutes." Today was a mock event, set up for the television cameras, several days before the real thing. "I want to show a bit of all the action," Jackie told her sister as they did a final walk around the busy game farm. Wild animals are most active at dawn and dusk. "Something to catch everyone's interest, I hope."

Pulling the event together the past few weeks had been tougher than even the twins expected. Once it was agreed to hold the fund-raiser, it had taken on a life of its own.

"I'm not sure Ray ever figured out the difference between being a boss, and just being bossy," Janette said. At their event meetings Ray had proved his management style involved telling others what needed to be done, and not necessarily in the most diplomatic of ways. "I'm not sure how we got anyone to agree on anything. Everyone had their own ideas on the way things should be done."

"They complied," said Jackie. "Or quit. I don't think anyone actually agreed very often." Many of the volunteers had given up long before today, adding additional pressure to those who had stuck it out.

They walked past the large, elevated back deck that was their make-shift stage, where the band was setting up. Jackie did not recognize the group. After several weeks of searching, the volunteer with "connections to the band scene" had managed to find them an obscure group that agreed to play at the fund-raiser at a "reduced rate." And the wildlife center had had to rent a sound system.

Beth and her husband George were setting up the best of their meager auction items on several tables along the side of the courtyard. The volunteer whose service group was to pull together an auction was a no-show.

"Beth's doing a great job with less than we'd hoped for," Janette offered. Beth, who had innocently admitted to having _attended_ a lot of fund-raising auctions, was pressed into service to salvage the effort. They had scrambled to solicit donations from local businesses already tapped by requests from youth activity groups, health organizations, and church event coordinators. With limited advice from a professional auctioneer, Beth had put together the auction table and bidding system, something none of them had done before.

"There are still a few days before the real deal," said Jackie. "She's hoping to secure at least a couple more, larger donations."

Jackie forced a smile when they passed the Automobile club's small table. It was covered with posters of well-dressed antique cars and filled with small collectibles for sale. Ray had created a logo, a club poster, a website, and a T-shirt design; basically everything he could do while sitting in front of his computer. And, he unilaterally decided the ticket price. To Jackie, it seemed to favor his club over any serious profits for the wildlife center, although, in theory any way, a lower ticket price would encourage greater attendance.

Janette grabbed a computer generated map from the table. It showed a circuitous route from the Willamette Valley Antique Automobile Club meeting hall, past the wildlife center, to the exotic game farm. "I imagined the ride would be longer," she said. "With more stops."

Jackie shrugged. The WVAAC had mapped out the poker run, would hold a club raffle on the day of the event, proceeds to benefit the wildlife center, and had purchased memorabilia pins for club attendees. Other guests could purchase the pins at the event, net income again to go to the wildlife center.

Absent from the pre-event show were any food and craft vendors Sandra had recruited. According to the game farmer, each would voluntarily donate a small, self-determined percentage of their proceeds to the wildlife center. Although neither Jackie nor her sister was comfortable with the loose arrangement, Sandra had not been able to secure a more precise donation agreement. Her contribution being the use of the property, Sandra took the price of her game burgers out of the already too low ticket price.

Tables and chairs, set up the afternoon before, filled the courtyard. "Everyone expects any profits to come from a large turnout and an active auction," said Janette when they had completed their circuit. "Is that usual?"

"It can be." But Jackie was far from certain. Between shoring up shortfalls and dealing with personality conflicts, the wildlife center manager had solicited media attention, and created and distributed a general announcement flier. At least all the pieces are in place, she thought. The rest was out of their hands.

Though the actual event was still a few days away, for those involved, _Wildlife Rhythms_ began today. Curious animals, beaks and noses pressed against the fence lines, surrounded them, watching the last minute activities.

Members of Willamette Valley Antique Automobile Club were parking the most impressive of their vehicles on the lawn. Kate, in full make-up and wig, had arrived to handle Cyrano. Jackie hoped the ornery buzzard would behave better for her than he had for Janette. Alyson and her daughter Maura had set up the wildlife center's education booth. Jackie's husband Rick was working with the band to play a sample of the music to be feature in another short feature segment. Beth put her finishing touches to the auction table.

"It looks like it will be a fun event," said Janette, turning towards the barn, a quiet place where other Animal Ambassadors were being housed.

"Now, let's see if we can get the public interested," said Jackie.

The news team arrived and set up lights and audio in several locations around the game farm. The broadcast van, complete with its fully extended satellite boom, was quickly ready, and the engineer began checking both video and audio feeds.

Ginny Vargas, the "reporter about town," was just arriving in a mini-van. The man in the passenger seat was introduced as her producer, Sam.

Ginny got right to business. "The first shot will be about fifteen seconds long." Looking around, she chose a spot in front of the deer enclosure. Most of the heavily antlered animals were still a distance away. "There," she pointed. "After that we'll have forty-five minutes to decide what we want to feature next."

Sam and Ginny reviewed Jackie's recommended locations and nodded, satisfied. The beautiful reporter's large, brown eyes sparkled in the artificial lighting.

Jackie's station schedule sheet indicated time and length of each spot. It was covered with her own notes. I'm not going to miss any opportunities, she thought. We need a full house this weekend.

Sam tapped his headset, then pointed to Ginny. "You're up in two."

The reporter positioned them directly in front of the pen. The bulls had reached the fence line. The largest and most curious had pushed the others out of the way so as to get the better view. Jackie could hear them snort in lungsful of scented air.

"Good morning Oregon. I'm Ginny Vargas here with Jackie Carl of the American Wildlife Foundation. We're at Windy City's Wildlife Safari where the Willamette Valley Antique Automobile Club will be holding a fund-raising event for the wildlife center. Stay tuned for all the details."

They turned toward a beautiful sunrise rising over the heads of the magnificent deer. Jackie watched the cameraman pan to focus on a pair of young bulls, each with an impressive set of antlers still in velvet.

"Cut," shouted the engineer.

After a quick cup of coffee, the crew moved to their next location choice, the wildlife center's information booth. Cyrano would be visible in the following three segments, and he wanted in on the action. He opened his wings for balance, pacing awkwardly on Kate's fist. It was all the she could do to keep him from bating. He blinked when the bright lights came on.

"This is Cyrano, a turkey vulture, and one of the Animal Ambassadors at the wildlife center." Ginny proceeded to ask Jackie about AWF while both of them tried to ignore the cantankerous bird behind them. From of the corner of her eye, Jackie could see Kate tugging on the bird's leash while he stretched toward the reporter, reaching for something Jackie couldn't see. His head flared bright red. It contrasted interestingly with Kate's strawberry blonde wig.

In the next segment Cyrano was front and center. Jackie watched helplessly as the vulture gradually opened his wings their full span, completely covering Kate from view, and nearly pushing both Ginny and Jackie out of the scene.

Jackie managed to keep her composure, _willing_ their bird to cooperate. "Lights, cameras and commotion don't usually bother him," she made light of the bird's behavior, praying Cyrano hadn't been given any food that morning. She wasn't quite sure how she'd explain _that_ away on-camera.

"Cyrano is obviously not an early riser." Ginny joked, clearly uncomfortable with the bird's attitude, his size, and his smell. She ducked momentarily out of the scene when Cyrano jumped to the end of his tether, grabbing at her. "Ouch," she yelped as the vulture yanked a decorative clip out of her hair in triumph, taking more than a few dark strands with it.

The camera crew snickered.

Red-faced, Kate stepped back, allowing Ginny to return center scene. The reporter's laugh almost sounded genuine, as she smoothed back her rich, brown hair.

"Cyrano loves glittery things." Jackie didn't know what else to say, privately glad the reporter wasn't wearing dangling earrings.

Cyrano mouthed the clip for the camera, then dropped it, already bored with his new prize.

Ginny finger-styled her hair, continuing to ask Jackie questions about the event and the wildlife center while keeping a wary eye on the mischievous bird.

No more sparkling objects in sight, Cyrano ignored them.

Everyone breathed a sigh of relief when the segment finished. Ginny's crew couldn't stop themselves from ribbing the reporter, something Jackie guessed could go on for days.

The next spot, a shorter one, found Cyrano tethered on the ground. Jackie hoped the bird would behave better if he wasn't trying to balance on someone's fist. But his problem wasn't the company, it was his stomach. When the camera rolled, Cyrano started to chew on the reporter's shoes. Fancy laces were quickly untied. The cameraman zoomed in on the bird. Ginny played up the crazy animal antic angle on air, dancing around, trying not to sound concerned or lose her train of thought.

Jackie wondered what exactly she'd do if Cyrano moved past the shoes to the woman's pant legs, and onto bare skin. A reporter screaming on live television would not be good.

He didn't, and the rest of the morning marched by effortlessly. Ginny fed deer and elk from the back of the farm's truck. She was photographed with ostrich, emu, and llamas. The reporter walked a row of the most impressive antique cars. The band played in the background.

By the time the show wrapped, the sun was high in the sky, and it was starting to get hot. The Animal Ambassadors were back at the wildlife center, and their breakfasts. Sandra handed both the reporter and the producer each a package of venison jerky as they were leaving.

"Email us again for next year's event." Ginny waved from the passenger's side window as her van followed the news truck out.

The volunteers cheered and clapped before starting to collect their belongings.

"I've got a good feeling," said Sandra.

"Great job everyone," Jackie shouted, hoping the game farmer was right.

"Hurry. Get your booths open. They're here early!" Jackie glanced at her watch. Antique cars were parading down the game farm's long driveway the day of the event—two hours early! She watched as angry food vendors scrambled to open up shop before most of them had even set up, much less connected to power or water.

"They're not supposed to be here until ten," said Janette.

"Apparently Ray miscalculated the time the events at the club would take." Jackie forced a smile and waved at drivers exiting their cars, most in full period costumes matching the era of their particular vehicle. "Or the Poker Run to the farm was shorter than expected."

"Or both." Janette looked towards the center's information booth which, except for things that might blow away or be damaged by weather, had been set up the night before. "At least Cyrano's ready."

Cyrano hadn't been the least bit frightened by the roar of the cars, or a large group of motorcycles that had followed them in. In fact, he bobbed and weaved, staring at the approaching vehicles in excited anticipation. Apparently the _Good Morning Oregon_ report had done its job.

Jackie watched the vulture even after the cars were parked and dust settled. The large bird did his best to attract anyone and everyone's attention, spreading his wings at a slow, royal turn. "Thatta boy," said Jackie, "Keep it up." But she knew there was no way the vulture could entertain the crowd for two hours. His begging and demanding behavior might keep them occupied for at least twenty minutes though. Jackie spotted her husband. "Get the band on stage, _now_."

Rick walked over, irritated concern on his face. "They're drunk in the parking lot."

"At 8 a.m.!" Jackie struggled to keep her expression professional. "I don't care. I _paid_ for this band, and they _will_ get up there and play." She shaded her eyes from the already too hot sun as her husband stalked off to battle their wasted band members. "Maybe they'll sweat it off," she growled under her breath.

A crowd was starting to form around Cyrano. The unabashed vulture practically drooled over the leather and fringe as riders dismounted their motorcycles and began to wander the grounds of the game farm.

But black leather isn't the appropriate attire for weather that was predicted to be well over 100°. Wildlife center volunteers passed out bottles of water as fast as they could, only some of it having had time on ice. Cyrano, though staked in the full sun, head blazing bright red, didn't seem to notice the heat as he chewed and tugged at any buckle or shoelace that presented itself.

It wasn't long before guests abandoned the exposed courtyard, and moved into the shade of the farms nearby oak grove to keep cool, and well away from the house's large back-deck stage. Tables convened in the sun, empty even of chairs, that had been hauled to the oak grove. Table-top 'Adopt an Animal' signs stood unseen.

Jackie cringed at what passed for scales and tuning coming from the stage. Maybe people wouldn't notice how off-key the band is from farther away. "Are they supposed to sound like that?" she asked Rick, hoping the actual songs would prove less irritating.

He scowled, but she deftly turned her head to her approaching sister. The secret to a successful marriage, she thought, is how good you get at avoiding all the dirty looks.

The band began to play a rousing rendition of _I'm a Buzz Saw, Let Me Mow Your Lawn_.

"Is that really a song?" Janette asked.

"I'm not sure," Jackie was fairly certain the wildlife center had crows that could sing better. Hell, _she_ could sing better than that. She headed for the oak grove. Things do sound better from a distance, she decided.

"Great event," a soft voice said.

Jackie turned, surprised to be greeted by a short, leather-clad woman with tight gray curls. Pamela Sawyer, from the Wildlife Welfare Fund, was one of the AWF's few major donors. "I didn't know you were a biker!"

"It's something my husband and I do together." Pam nodded toward the people sitting under the trees. "Looks like it's turning into a nice fund raiser."

Jackie scanned the two hundred or so car enthusiasts that wandered the game farm. As far as she could tell, other than the bikers, not too many general public or even locals had shown up. It's too hot, she thought disappointed. I'm not sure _I'd_ be here if it weren't my event. She smiled at Pam, and tried to keep her thoughts positive. The day was still young.

Most of the vendors and booths had at least some shade, although the air was still and oppressive. Sales weren't looking good. Jackie didn't see too many participants at either the food or craft booths. It looked like they had filled up on water and Sandra's dried meats, the only things available to them for the first hour after their arrival.

"What is he looking at?" Pamela asked, nodding toward the vulture.

"I'm not sure," said Jackie, turning to look for what had caught Cyrano's attention. A woman with long, bleached hair strolled past the vulture. "I think it's that blonde biker." Six-inch fringe beckoned to the bird from the front and back yoke of her black leather jacket.

The buzzard was mesmerized, in lust again. Staring open mouthed, Cyrano bobbed and weaved his flaring bald head at the oblivious woman. When she didn't respond, he spread his wings, futilely hopping up and down, like a dirty old man. Jackie felt her face flush.

"I see how he got his name," Pamela laughed, before heading towards the group of bikers she'd come with.

Jackie watched Kate struggle in vain to regain Cyrano's attention. He clearly had no problem humiliating himself, or anyone else from the wildlife center he might be with or who stood between him and his infatuation-of-the-moment. The costumed woman ignored the bird, despite his best mating dance. She walked past carrying food, water and sodas. Cyrano watched the fringed blonde disappear into a sea of leather. He sighed, re-folded his wings, and waited for his next attempt at sexual prowess.

"Unrequited love," Jackie said. A soft voice behind her giggled. She turned to see Audra Howard, a friend and her personal financial planner, and Lisa Quinn, one of the bank's VPs.

Shortly after the twins' arrival in Oregon, Audra and Lisa had taken a personal interest in them, and in the animals. Jackie wasn't quite sure why, as neither woman seemed typical animal-people, and it certainly wasn't because of the twins' underwhelming financial assets. Whatever the reason, Jackie was grateful. The two bank professionals had stretched the women's' modest finances as far as they could over the years.

"It's probably good she didn't notice him staring at her." Lisa laughed. "She'd wonder if he were sizing her up for lunch." The trio talked desultorily about how well the event seemed to be doing.

Audra took a bite out of her burger, chewing unenthusiastically. "Shouldn't this be a meat-less venue?" she suggested. "You are, after all, an environmental organization."

"We offer a meatless alternative." Jackie pointed to the grill full of vegetarian burgers. "But we'd lose a lot of sales if we didn't offer meat. Even animal-lovers tend to be carnivores."

"Why serve game burgers?" Lisa hadn't eaten much of her sandwich either. "Seems expensive. I've talked to a few of the guests, and they all agree they would have been just as happy with hamburgers."

Jackie bit her tongue. Where were you at our event organization meetings? she thought. Janette and I could have used your votes to actually _win_ a few of the committee arguments. "We thought about serving beef patties, but..." Jackie shrugged. The sisters had been summarily out-voted by Ray and Sandra at one of their earliest meetings. They had insisted an event at a game farm should serve exotic meat, despite the substantial increase in cost.

"Do you know the poster at the front gate doesn't even mention the wildlife center?" Janette asked, smiling at the bankers as she walked up, carefully lowering the crate carrying the panting Misty to the floor. The owl didn't like the heat, the daylight, or the crowd.

"What?" said Jackie. "My poster features everything—AWF, the band, the activities, and the game farm."

"The one there now only features the car club." Janette excused herself, then picked up the crate and headed for the barn to switch the Animal Ambassador scheduled to be escorted around the event.

Jackie hiked the distance to the front gate. In the heat it felt like a mile. More. To make matters worse, something had found its way inside her shoe, poking her foot with every step she took. Sure enough, the poster that replaced hers now featured only the automobile club. Except for the location at the game farm, it mentioned neither the wildlife center, nor that the event was a fund-raiser, or any of the other activities. The stapled corner remnants of her own poster poked from behind the new one. Annoyed, she replaced it before trudging back to the event. Apparently they hadn't _really_ won that argument either. The object in her shoe dug into her foot every step of the way. She ducked into the barn, sat on the nearest closed garbage can, and yanked off her shoe. She couldn't find anything. Peeling off her sock, she turned it inside out, hoping to dislodge the invisible irritant.

Stepping back outside, she squinted in the blazing sun. The silent auction table sat empty, save for her sister. "Where's Beth?" Jackie asked. The offending sliver needled her foot again.

"She and George are sitting in the shade." Janette's face was beet red. Jackie imagined her own was the same. Blondes don't usually fare well in the sun. If all she got out of this was third-degree burns, she'd scream.

They walked around the display. The items they'd managed to secure were nice, but mostly smaller than they'd hoped for. A pair of Nike® tennis shoes. A weekend stay in a tree house at an Alpaca farm. A truck-load of gravel, you pick up. Unframed art work. A truck tour into the bull elk pen.

Other items were even less impressive. A make-up kit suitable only for a pre-teen experimenting with color. A pink dog-grooming kit. An XXL pair of rubber boots. Slightly-used lawn furniture.

"Did anybody give us anything we could actually sell?"

Janette just shrugged her shoulders. "At least we can have a great yard sale after the event?"

"You mean another great yard sale." Jackie looked at the nearly empty bid sheets. Hardly any even came close to the value of the items themselves.

At the live auction, the unflappable auctioneer couldn't even shame participants into spending money "to benefit the wildlife center."

"Why does the sign at the entrance only feature the band?" asked Alyson's daughter Maura. The teenager carried lunch from the in-town sub shop. Jackie scowled.

Jackie turned from the disaster unfolding in front of her. "Again?"

She hiked back up the driveway, her foot complaining the entire way. Sure enough, her poster had once more been replaced, and this one, although different from the last, also neglected mention this was a fund-raiser for the wildlife center.

Angry, she ripped down the poster, threw it in the nearest garbage can, and replaced it with her own. She tried to compose herself, brushing back frazzled hair. Hiking up and down this hill in 100°+ weather is doing nothing for my looks, she thought, or my disposition. To make matters worse, her foot was really starting to hurt. She wiggled her toes, trying to push the offending object to someplace in her footwear where it might do less damage. I swear this driveway is twenty miles _up_ a mountain!

"Didn't we agree on the posters at our meetings?" asked Janette when her sister returned.

"Apparently we're the only ones who _actually_ agreed on the poster" said Jackie. Their event planning meetings had mostly been sparring matches between oversized egos, each of whom thought they could do it better than the rest. It's amazing how many people can show _you_ how to do something, or suggest how _you_ should spend _your_ money.

"Do the poster bandits realize the people who turn into the driveway already _know_ about the event?" asked Janette.

Jackie sniffed and shrugged, shading her eyes and looked up at the sky; she prayed for a cloud; prayed for no more mishaps; and especially prayed _not_ pass out.

"When are they going to announce the winner of the poker run?" The auto club participants were sweaty and restless in the heat. "Yeah, when?" called another. A few looked like they might actually be approaching their temperamental boiling points.

Jackie wondered how much the poker run winnings were. Along with the car club's morning raffle money, Ray had assured her the proceeds were usually donated to the charity involved, and getting funds elsewhere was starting to look unlikely. The digital age had nixed the possibility of earning some cash having your photo taken with the amorous Cyrano.

A dark-haired man, in what looked to Jackie like a 1930's cabbie suit, made his way to the stage. He exposed sweat-stained armpits as he got everyone's attention, then introduced the wildlife center, and thanked all participants for "such a successful turnout."

Jackie climbed up the stage to stand next to him. Heat beat down from above, and radiated up from the floor. She did her best not to wrinkle her assaulted nose. I guess the best way not to worry about how bad you smell, she thought, is to stand next to someone who smells worse. The scene in front of them was barren. Everyone stood around the corner in the shade of the oak grove, straining to hear the results. She forced a smile when the announcer handed her about three hundred dollars in raffle proceeds. She quickly thanked the audience so he could continue. He announced the winner of the poker run, who pocketed his windfall with a big grin.

As soon as the last announcement was made, people hopped onto or into their rides and sped away. Probably headed to the nearest pool or river, Jackie thought. Naturally, the temperature for the day had reached a record high.

The rest of the afternoon dragged by with little activity. Many of the vendors had elected to shut down early, leaving little-to-no donations for their paltry earnings that day. The few volunteers who remained sat at a table by themselves in front of an empty stage.

"Despite the heat and the timing problems," said Janette, ever the optimist, "I think the event turned out pretty well."

Jackie shielded her eyes from the brutal sun. As far as she could figure, the wildlife center had netted less than $3,000. She didn't even want to calculate the true value of the donated auction items, such as they were, or the total number of man hours spent on the event.

They watched the volunteer fire department walk off with pots of wilted plants, a last minute donation to their auction. The last man grabbed a half-melted cake that had been used to tempt people to bid on a donated birthday party. A streamer attached to the cake tray trailed behind him like the tail of a rat.

"Do they know that cake has been sitting around for three days?" Beth asked. "We used it for their _Good Morning Oregon_ filming."

"It's okay," Janette said. "They're medics."

"At least we won't have to worry about the wildlife center burning down for a while." Jackie was ready to grab a beer and sit under the nearest tree. They couldn't leave for several hours yet, until everyone had gone and no one else was likely to show up. She looked at the abandoned soiree. Audra and Lisa still sat talking at one of the tables. Newcomers to the event, quite possibly neighbors who'd invited themselves into the farm for free, stood staring at the ostrich.

When the paramedic truck drove off, Jackie noticed posters now lined the entire driveway, tacked onto every tree. The poster battle had apparently gotten ugly after she'd given up displaying AWF's signage.

Jackie motioned her sister to follow her to the bankers' table.

"I reviewed the last few years of the wildlife center's finances from the annual reports on your website," said Audra, when they'd sat down. "We should get together and discuss how I might be able to help AWF invest to increase the income from the wildlife center's assets." She handed Jackie a business card. "I have some ideas."

Later that evening, when event had mercifully ended, the twins helped themselves to a couple of well-deserved beers.

"We can't do any more events without more guaranteed involvement," said Janette.

Jackie thought about it for a moment, too tired to be angry any more. Her foot throbbed. "You know," she said, "as a non-profit we are expected to trust in people's generosity and follow-through. Aren't we?"

"Everyone wanted what was best," Janette said.

"They just couldn't seem to get out of their own ways to accomplish it," Jackie finished.

Moving On

Jackie leaned against her shovel as she and Janette watched a small procession of cars drive out of the wildlife center's gravel parking lot. "That was a nice little ceremony." she said when they were gone. "It was a wonderful gesture on the part of her bird watching friends to plant the tree."

"I wish they would have chosen a different tree to plant," said Janette. They both looked at the tiny Ginkgo tree they'd just planted next to Cyrano's pen in their volunteer's honor. "The odds of this one surviving in this area aren't really great."

"I don't think that's really important."

Cyrano sat in the front corner of his mews, pressed against the chain link, watching them without a sound. He couldn't read the metal plaque that was staked in front of the tree, but Jackie had an uncanny feeling he knew. _In memory of Cassandra Knowles_.

"I can't believe she's gone," Jackie whispered. Just ten days ago a brain aneurysm had taken the life of the vivacious volunteer. "She was only in her fifties! And healthy."

Janette turned and looked at her sister surprised. "I thought you knew."

"Knew what?"

Cyrano ruffled his feathers.

"Cassie was aware of the aneurysm," said Janette. "She was diagnosed in her early twenties."

Jackie stared dumbfounded.

"Cassie lived with that aneurysm in her brain her whole adult life," her sister continued.

Cyrano began pacing the front of his pen. It was a beautiful day, and he wanted out.

"She had frequent migraines," said Jackie. "It amazed me how cheerful she was most of the time. And she hardly missed a day, despite her pain."

"She knew she could die at any minute, and decided early on not to miss a single moment."

Jackie struggled to digest the information. No feeling sorry for herself, she thought. I wonder if I could be that brave.

"Knowing was her secret," said Janette. "She only told me when she filled out our volunteer forms, then never spoke of it again."

Jackie looked at Cyrano, an animal myths attributed with foresight, and couldn't help but wonder. Is that why the volunteer had connected so strongly with the bird?

After a minute, "There was nothing they could do?"

"It was in a non-surgical location," said Janette.

Kate walked up the path, keys and gloves in hand. She let herself into Cyrano's pen.

"How did it happen?" Jackie asked her sister.

"Cassie finished her shift at AWF last Saturday. She had another small headache when she went home." Janette sighed. "We were so busy I didn't think much of it." According to her husband, it got worse as the day went on, so he drove her to the hospital. He dropped her off at the entrance, and went to park the car. She died in the waiting room before he got there."

Kate joined them with Cyrano on her fist. She looked at the sign and small tree without saying a word. She had only met Cassie a few times.

For a moment the three people and the large, smelly bird, stood in silent reverie.

Jackie picked up one of the vulture's stray feathers and twirled it between her fingers. When Cassie stands before the goddess Ma'at for judgment, she imagined, Cyrano will no doubt offer her one of his own feathers to place upon the scales. And Cassie will not be found wanting, for she was one of the most light-of-heart persons Jackie had ever met.

Cyrano opened his wings to the sun, a last salute, and a reminder to move on.

The American Wildlife Foundation is dedicated to teaching people to care for and about the environment. We strive to teach people that our world's most valuable treasures are in their hands; that every day actions, even ones that seem small, make a difference.

AWF is a nonprofit, tax exempt, IRS 501 (c) (3) corporation

funded entirely by individual donations and private sector support.

We are not government funded, and receive no tax monies.

We rely on your donations.

Consider AWF in your annual giving, and pass the word along.

Visit us at: www.awildfound.org

If you'd like to read more stories about the animals at the wildlife center, check out Whispers from the Wild at:

www.jajacquest.com

Acknowledgements

This book is dedicated to all AWF supporters, donors, and volunteers, past and present, including:

Helmut & Christine Ackermann,

Frances Velay, Panaphil Foundation

Keith Kinsman, Kinsman Foundation

Ouida Mundy Hill, Hill Designated Fund

Our special thanks to:

Lee Shaw, editor

Jennifer Funrue, photographer

Rick Carl, webmaster
