If you're an injured animal in Indiana, you are well and truly fucked.
(Before I start, any amateur ornithologists here feel like helping me identify this critter? I know it's a Heron or Egret of some kind, but none of the identifications that popped had example pictures that quite matched. I'm just too tired to care at the moment, and it's going to be all that much more of a pisser if it turned out to be something threatened or endangered. Thanks. Oh, and some possibly harsh language/descriptions ahead.)
So I go outside for the monthly yard mowing today, and as I start to pull the caddy back out away from the grass exhaust AoE I caught a glimpse of something strange in the rear view mirror.
It was wasn't moving in the slightest, so I didn't really pay much attention to it at first. Figured maybe the yard gnome was trying to run away from home again. He always talks shit, but never follows through. But when I looked closer, I realized I didn't know what the fuck it was. I'd never seen a bird like that around this area before... especially not one that doesn't freak the shit out and fly off. This guy just stared me down as I got out of the car, and approached as if to say "Yeah, you want some? Get some, or GTFO of my face"
That's when I noticed something was wrong with his right leg, and I ain't about to go poking an injured animal with a dagger shaped beak conveniently located at crotch level, and a cantankerous look in it's eye as if he's just waiting for an excuse to use it.
Now, I live about half a mile from a nature preserve with active DNR officers always on staff due to druggies thinking it's a great place to grow dope or dump chemicals. Easy catches for em, like goin fishing. Well, except for today. Nobody answered the phone. So I rummage through the phone book for someone who could help with animal rescue. I mean, as big a dick this bird was being, I didn't want anything bad to happen him chilling so close to the highway. He was a beautiful and impressive creature... at least from behind the safety of my metal latticed front door of course.
Well the animal shelters only rescued common pets. Most places were closed (or not answering the phone) after 2 p.m. in the afternoon - such as the Animal Welfare League, Department of Animal Control, Veterinary Clinics, Etc. The police told me it's not their buisness, and they don't carry handcuffs that small - so call the main DNR district office. I don't think there is one, as nothing was listed in the phone book easy to find. Maybe it's because I was looking under the government office listings instead of private businesses, as and Mitchy Boy likely tossed DNR in to sweeten the deal with the toll road sale a few years back.
So I get online and cruise over to the in.gov DNR site, thinking they might have some useful information. They did! I learned that they don't actually rescue animals, instead relying on private rehabilitation contractors... and they provided a number to call to get a listing of my local rehabilitation. So I hurriedly dial the number while keeping an eye on the bird, who was pacing the side of the road - I assume while contemplating suicide, just waiting for a truck or something that would definitely kill it quickly instead of just tinking off the hood and breaking his OTHER leg.
(He hasn't had things going his way so far it seems)
The phone didn't even ring. It went straight to an automated message telling me that their voice mail service was full and to try back tomorrow because they're too busy hard at work for me over the July 4th weekend to actually help me. Luckily, there was a convenient listing of rehabilitators for me to call. Awesome. Guess what I find? The only rehabilitator within a three hour drive that is licensed for birds is ONLY licensed for raptors. Birds of Prey. Fuck it... you know what? He looked like he was out for blood to me. Close enough. But unfortunately... his number is unlisted.
How fucking smart is that? We're going to give you a list of people to call in case of an animal emergency, but we can't actually give you the number because he values his privacy. I see no problems with that!
So I call a number for the next closest licensed rehabilitators to me who deals with turtles, snakes, and mammals. What else am I going to do? So I call, and get a answering machine telling me that the owner of the number is screening calls and if I leave my information she'll call back when it's convenient. Wat? But as it turns out, this woman was the most helpful lead out of the whole lot. She called back within 15 minutes, and informed me that she couldn't help if she wanted because she's not licensed. But, to my luck, there's a good licensed bird rehabilitator she works with occasionally a town over that isn't listed by the DNR. Apparently, there's a whole bunch of volunteer rehabilitators scattered about that you have absolutely NO WAY of getting contact information for of unless you're deemed worthy by braving the labyrinth of state sanctioned bullshit. Apparently, you have to show them that you actually DO give a shit about animal welfare enough to deal with all this before you can get actual animal welfare assistance.
So I call the number she gives me. A friendly cheerful voice answers and greets me and asks what the purpose of the call is. I tell her the situation and the frustrations I'd been through - to say nothing of the bird who was by this time sizing low forking branches for a place he could hang himself... and that, I've never seen this kind of evil black beast before - it could be an endangered species. She was sympathetic, but said "I'm sorry, I don't have the proper license. I don't know why she told you that".
What? I just described a journey through automated phone system hell that would make Dante's epic into the flaming pit look like a stroll through the park - and all the while this animal is suffering... can't you do SOMETHING... just, you know, out of basic human compassion?!
She suggested that I grab a blanket, herd it into a cage, and bring it her.
No way in hell, that bird is in NO mood for fucking around. It is going to rape me with it's beak, prison style.
Exactly.
... Well Fuck you then.
She hung up on me.
I sit there stunned... literally floored at the reflection of the situation... and the irony that in the next room, my niece had passed out in front of the TV with Animal Planet on; some critter rescue show with apparently competent professionals in uniforms and everything rescuing baby bear cubs and moose and shit.
So I did the unthinkable. I called PETA to report animal abuse on the governmental level. I go to the website, dodging petition signups, donation appeals, nauseating anthropomorphized lovie animal appeals to pussydome, and vegetarian elitist auto fellatio essays and mission statements. Oh I was going to call down the wrath of god on these heartless bastards. See how they like it when a bunch of patchouli reeking collage students show up on their steps chanting vile rhetoric and throwing blood over each other and your house like some kind of satanic voodoo orgy from a B-grade 80's slasher flick.
I should have known better. Maybe I was just exacerbated beyond the point of holding a line of focus, but it took awhile to find the "Report Abuse" link. I would think a site concerned with the ethical treatment of animals would have a report abuse link in huge flashing red text geocities style at the top of the page. What is their sagely advice? Contact your state officials or send an email, which they will read by tomorrow and contact you in a few weeks if it's important.
You could call their hotline to report emergencies though. After sitting through what feels like 20 minutes of telling you how important their mission is, and how every moment you tie up their precious automated service another animal dies a slow and painful death so it better be goddamned important - because if it's not, animals are going to DIE and their blood will be on YOUR hands - after all that, you're instructed to press 2 to report the abuse. Pressing 2, however, will transfer to another call center in which you're instructed to press 0 to seek emergency animal assistance. This redirects you to the previous call center where you are again reminded not to waste their time, and to press 0 to seek emergency animal assistance.
.... this has got to be a fucking joke right? Really? REALLY?! That just happened? I'm sure I was just missing something stupidly obvious in my frustration and rage... either that, or there's a camera crew off to the side somewhere, out of sight, stifling laughter. I have never encountered such a string of utter failure on so many levels. I didn't think it was possible.
Then I realized where I went wrong. It all became clear in a wave of epiphany, and I knew what I had to do. I picked up the phone book again and dialed.
"Hello, Nelson's BBQ, how can we help you today?"
They were out here with their port-a-grill in 10 minutes. Problem Solved.
And the sad thing is, this is actually a true story. This shit really happened... except for the BBQ part. I don't know what happened to the bird as I haven't seen him for awhile, but I heard a sickening "whapap" on the road about 10 minutes ago, so I assume it was him that got hit. I haven't checked it, but he was in NO condition to fly. He seemed cautious when stretching his wings and the only time I saw it even try to take off, it looked like it's wing spasmed as it extended, he tumbled and fell.... stayed on the ground for a moment, then hobbled very jerkingly back to his feet and crouched without moving for awhile, like when I first noticed him.
I might go out and check later, but really - even if he wasn't trying to cross the highway, I've seen assholes who'll put their cars in the ditch attempting to get over far enough to hit a dog or cat. It wouldn't surprise me in the least if the hillbilly hunters around here would risk kissing a tree with their two tone rust rockets if it meant the prestige of splattering an odd looking or out of place animal.
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Originally Posted by Dark Phoenix5
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