24/06/2025
Some days, the stress we endure is unimaginable.
We’ve just come through an ordeal that tested every ounce of patience, resolve, and professionalism we posses… all to save one tiny life.
It started with a few WhatsApp videos shared in a group chat. Clips of a young barn owlet with food streaming from its beak, streaking its pristine white down with mushed goop.
Alarm bells rang… Immediate and loud.
The method of feeding was deeply concerning. This little owl was struggling… gulping helplessly, choking on “kindness” and it was painfully clear he wouldn’t survive under that kind of “care.”
We reached out immediately. Gently. Politely. We explained how our rehabilitation protocols are built on years of experience, fine tuned for survival.
We offered help, shared our process, and detailed how we could give this baby owl the best possible chance.
Twelve hours later, the reply came.. a confident update about how “well” things were going.
We were told, in detail, about the food being fed: a slurry of parrot porridge, with a bit of liver mixed in for flair.
We swallowed hard.
We explained that this diet would not suffice.
And then came the kicker..
“Well, a feather in my cap. I’ve successfully reared and released others before, so I’m not fighting with you. You’re mos the expert!”
And just like that, we knew…
Facts & education wouldn’t win this one.
Arguing would only delay the owlet’s already slim chance of survival.
So we bit our tongues, because saving this one life mattered more than being right.
Martie Nortie…. (Our Goddess and complete grace under pressure. Tough as teak, and always ready to help our wildlife).. arranged to collect the owlet by noon. Despite requests, no physical address was given, just vague directions. As the time neared, messages went unanswered & calls were ignored.
At 2pm, a call finally came through, irritated that we had “missed” the midday collection.
Still, we bit our tongues.
Martie, ever determined, raced off toward general location. More vagueness, with a healthy dose of ego and impatience. Then, mercifully, the phone was handed to the husband.
He was breath of fresh air. Calm. Cooperative. Clear. A lifeline in a messy situation.
Martie arrived. The gentleman met with her outside, owlet in hand.
Quietly he says “I’m very glad you’re taking this baby. The last few she rescued all died.”
Enough said.
Martie, ever the professional, smiled, thanked him for his honesty, placed the owlet into the prepped carrier, and left with the precious cargo.
Thanks to her determination, this baby barn owl is now safe and in the expert hands of Judy Davidson, who rears more owls in a year than most of us have birthdays in a lifetime.
Judy has flushed the gunk from the owlet’s system, stabilized him, and started a careful diet that will nourish his little system and ensure he will indeed thrive.
Once he’s stronger, he’ll be introduced to other owlets for socialization, and eventually, a proper, well earned release.
Please…
We’re begging..
Don’t hand wildlife over to just anyone. No matter how confident (or belligerent) they are, or how much “experience” they claim to have.
Always contact a reputable, permitted wildlife rehabilitation centre.
The wrong care can lead to aspiration, malnutrition, and slow, unnecessary suffering.
Too often, it ends in the animal’s quiet death that no one gets the truth about.
We’re here to help wildlife.
Let us.
