Private rehabilitation site isn’t a public petting zoo

It’s no nonsense and for serious this week.

Pop-in visitors are sometimes disappointed, disgruntled … even distraught … if they find a CLOSED TODAY notice on the door of our wildlife shelter. Often, they stare in disbelief before coming to our residence to ask if the sign is for real. When told the sign was put up because of other commitments, guests or pressing chores, they exclaim, “But, I’ve driven all the way from Broken Elbow!” … etc. It riles them even more to learn youngsters under 13 cannot be admitted to the shelter. Their reaction is what might be expected if we told them we tear the wings from buterflies. Shocked, they inform us the child with them is an exception to the rule because he or she is from Grizzly Gulch and has never seen a bear.

Unfortunately, the public has the impression this is a public animal farm, park or petting zoo when, in truth, it is a private residence where wild creatures are rehabilitated for release. Surprise! Surprise! Visitors roll in as early as six in the morning and as late as 11:30 at night. They are actually insulted if we don’t leave our guests, meals and scheduled projects to take them through the shelter. They have set up barbeques, picnic tables and tents in our yard, and, even asked where to find the bathroom! Even during the birthing season, when tiny birds and beasts have to be fed around the clock, there are those who can’t understand why the wildlings should come first while their plans are put on hold.

We thoroughly enjoy considerate visitors and have made many true friends over the years. Occasionally, someone drops by during a lull in the daily chores and we can spend time with them, but, to avoid disappointment or frustration, it would be wise to call or write before making a long trip for the main purpose of visiting the wildlings.

Youngsters under the age of 13 have not been admitted to the shelter since 1983 and our unexpected guests numbered 50 to 120 daily. Cars would roll up the hill, youngsters would tumble out and, as the cars rolled on, the children would tell us Mama said they could stay until five o’clock! Birthday party guests were brought here for free entertainment after they’d had their ice cream and cake. Mothers stripped clothes from their tots and plopped them in the fowl-fouled water of the ducks’ plastic swimming pools. The pools had to be trashed after youngsters broke the sides down with lumber they dragged from our woodworking shop … for diving boards. Other mothers tossed their little ones into pens and large cages of raccoons and foxes. The youngsters broke windows, pushed in screens, stuffed firewood down woodchuck burrows, shook birdhouse poles, poked animals with sticks, stoned squirrels, raced up and down the corridor of the shelter, screamed and beat on cages until birds lost their wing slings and animals refractured splinted legs. Permissive parents beamed while Junior scooped expensive feed from the bins and scattered it over the floor. When mothers insisted we let their youngsters hold raccoons, despite our warnings, the youngsters usually got scratched and the mothers yelled, “Rabies!” The children would be taken to a doctor who would call us to keep the animal in isolation … as it happened when one little girl put candy in a raccoon’s mouth, then, reached in to get it. The raccoon bit her. I told the doctor he’d bite me if I’d put candy in his mouth and tried to take it back!

And, that’s the way it is!

Jerry Elwell is a free-lance nature writer from Sherman Station.