I hate it when that happens.
We decide to turn around to see if (make sure) it’s dead. We don't want to leave an injured animal lying in the road to suffer. But when we turn around there's nothing there.
Dave F, who’s driving, thinks maybe it's stuck to the grill of the truck, so we pull over. Sure enough, there's a bird plastered to the grill.
But there's also a screech coming from under the hood. The bird is alive with his head stuck in the grill!
Dave F grabs a pair of gloves and his camera. He shoots pic's while I prepare to try to remove the stuck bird.
From what we can see, it's obviously a bird of prey. Complete with sharp talons and no doubt a powerful and nasty beak on the other end.
I put on the gloves and begin to check the bird for injury, first the wings then the legs, wondering all the while how I'm going to handle this wild thing safely (for both of us). I don't quite know if the talons will pierce the gloves, but I'm not looking forward to finding out.
As I get one leg under control, the other flails around until it finds my hand and grabs a hold. I was amazed at the power in these skinny little legs and feet as they clamp around my finger. Fortunately, the bird grabbed me more like a perch than prey, and its talons didn't dig in through the glove. The tight squeeze was very impressive. I think if the talons hadn't wrapped around my finger, it would have been ugly.
I get the bird's legs under control, and then I secure his wings. All appear to be strong and healthy. No sign of broken bones, no blood.
As I prepare to free his head. I wonder how I'm going to deal with that beak. My fingers aren’t any tougher than the mouse-flesh it rips apart for a living. If the talons - meant to simply catch and hold prey - were that strong, then the beak, designed to tear prey apart, is going to be dangerous.
I gently tug the bird to free the head, but it won't budge.
We need to lift the hood.
As the hood goes up and we look inside, we confirm our suspicions: it's an Owl. The little guy is scared to death and his frightened screech becomes and angry warning as he sees us for the first time.
He's not cooperating with my efforts to hold his head to help maneuver it though the grill. I finally pull a finger out of the glove and put the empty glove finger in his face. He bites it with amazing force and won't let go, which allows me some control to position his head.
At least he's quiet now. The plastic slats that make up the grill flexed perfectly upon impact to trap this little head without injury, but now they won't flex easily to release him.
We break out the tools.
A pair of needle nose pliers spread the plastic just enough and the fact that his beak is clamped down on the glove like a vice allows me to maneuver his head to the right spot and angle.
In no time he's free of the grill.
Once free he doesn't even try to bite and he seems content to pose for a photo or two. No longer screeching, he allows me to check him out thoroughly for signs of damage.
Dave F and I debate taking him to a wildlife rehab, but he seems to be in perfect shape.
So we pose for one more photo together.
Then I open my hand and toss him gently in the air. And he flies off into the night.
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