Creature Care

On the first Wednesday in May, the modest lobby at the Wildlife Rehabilitation Center in Roseville is packed. Though the front desk doesn’t open until 10 a.m., more than half a dozen people have shown up early, holding containers that include Amazon boxes, animal crates, laundry baskets, and plastic buckets. Inside the receptacles are a mourning dove and lots of animal babies—squirrels, opossums, and rabbits—all in need of help. May and June, during the spring wildlife baby boom, are the center’s busiest months. Its veterinarians will tend to 119 patients today and 5,100 animals in May 2024, making it the busiest month in the WRC’s 45-year history.

Nick Osteraas of Richfield has taken time off work to bring in a mourning dove that flew into his living-room window. A few hours after impact, the bird was still not flying. With a storm rolling in, he put on garden gloves, secured it in a kennel, and put it in a dark room overnight before bringing it to the WRC this morning.

“My sister used to volunteer here when she was in college, so that’s how I knew about them,” he says. “I just felt bad for the bird. In the fall, I’d probably be hunting those same birds. But it’s just one of those things that I couldn’t stand by and let the storm or some nocturnal critter get it.”

Once he and the dove were at the WRC, the intake process took less than 10 minutes because he had filled out an online admission form describing the bird’s situation before coming in.

“I’m hoping they can fix whatever is wrong with the bird,” he says. “I’m a little bit worried because it looked like a broken wing. I don’t know how great its chances are, but at least we gave it one.”

Front desk volunteers are the public’s first and oftentimes only interaction with the WRC when bringing in an animal for care. When it’s busy, they remain calm and focused as they manage a waiting room—and, at times, a line out the door—full of anxious humans with needy animals.

“I just take one person at a time, focus on them, move on to the next, and that makes it easier,” says intake volunteer Kathy Esboldt, who drives 45 minutes from her home in Wisconsin for her weekly shift. “I empathize with them, sometimes give them a hug if they need it or Kleenex if they’re emotional. I try to be calming.”

A Busy Year. In 2023, the Wildlife Rehabilitation Center had its second busiest year in its 44-year history, with 18,808 admitted patients representing 200 species brought to the center by members of the public, volunteers, and other entities ranging from law enforcement to the Minnesota Department of Natural Resources. Staff are predicting this year will exceed last year’s numbers.

As one of the busiest wildlife hospitals in the world, the WRC is open seven days a week, 365 days a year, from 10 a.m. to 6 p.m., and is known for its work with lead toxicity in trumpeter swans and turtle shell repair. This year alone, its staff and volunteers will help about 72,000 people from all over the region and the United States with some type of wild animal situation, whether it’s advising if an animal should be brought to the center for treatment or how to get a woodchuck out from underneath a shed, or helping someone find a local rehabber.

People—real estate agents at open houses, visitors to the Minnesota State Fair, travelers on the way to the airport, daycare providers—have found and brought in injured or orphaned animals to the WRC from all corners of the state. And it’s not just the usual suspects. Last year, the WRC treated a tiger salamander that underwent a leg amputation. An injured timber rattlesnake was admitted after being driven more than two hours from Winona to the WRC. And then there was the bobcat, which was found with its leg stuck in a wire fence by another rehabber, that made “guttural growls” at handlers. Nearly every day is a little bit wild at the WRC.

On the Front Lines. In Minnesota, around 50 certified wildlife rehabilitators care for injured and orphaned animals. They play an important role, says Heidi Cyr, nongame wildlife permit coordinator for the Minnesota Department of Natural Resources. They assist the public by taking needy animals and advising them when animals should be left alone. Without these rehabbers, Cyr says, the state would have more issues with unqualified people trying to care for animals.

“Not only is it illegal to possess wild animals without a permit or license, but it is dangerous for the individual,” she says. “It is also dangerous for the animals,” because improper diet or care can cause animals to become sicker, suffer more, or even die. They also may become habituated to humans and unable to survive in the wild.

“Wildlife rehabbers are often on the front lines to wild animal issues, informing and working with the DNR on disease outbreaks and coordinating with the DNR on issues such as poisoning, lead ingestion, and rescues,” Cyr explains. 

Rehabbers also benefit the DNR, which is not funded, equipped, nor mandated to rehabilitate wildlife, by fielding calls and questions and “providing a place to take these animals,” she adds.

The WRC, by far the largest and busiest rehabber in the state, often works with fellow rehabbers by taking in animals for medical care or referring people to their services.

“The wildlife rehabilitators in Minnesota are generally a very professional group,” Cyr says, “and that is in no small part due to the leadership provided by the WRC.”

Filling a Need. Founded in 1979 by a student club at the Veterinary College at the University of Minnesota, the Wildlife Rehabilitation Center eventually became a separate nonprofit and moved to its Roseville facility in 2002. With a $2.8 million annual budget, it employs a year-round staff of 35 people and hires 11 seasonal staffers each spring and summer. A volunteer force of 500 to 600 people supports its songbird, mammal, and waterfowl nurseries.

The WRC runs entirely on donations from people who support its mission, says executive director Tami Vogel.

“It’s so incredible to me that people in this region care so much about wildlife; not only do they make the time to educate themselves and to help patients in need, but they fund our services,” says Vogel, who started as a volunteer in 2003 before becoming communications director and now leading the center. “I am speechless when I think about how compassionate and caring all of our clients and donors are. We only exist because of their support.”

That support was on full display after a man who was renovating his lake home in Miltona last winter discovered more than 110 big brown bats hibernating in his attic. He made multiple trips more than two hours to bring them to the WRC, which overwintered them and released them in late May. Donors stepped up in a big way, giving $56,000 to support the care of the bats and to purchase and install a new hibernaculum for them.

Even with generous support like this, demand for the WRC’s services is growing faster than its revenue, says Vogel. “Across the nation, there is more demand for wildlife rehabilitation services than can be delivered,” she says. “In Minnesota, we’re at a crisis level.”

One driver of the trend is growing awareness of wildlife rehabilitation, she says. The center now sees second-generation clients.

“Parents who brought an animal to us when they were younger are now bringing in their children who have found an animal in need,” she says. “Smartphones and the younger generation have also changed the level of demand. People in their 20s and 30s grew up knowing places like the WRC exist. Being able to ask your phone where the nearest wildlife hospital is makes it easy to find services.”

The WRC receives no state or federal funding, but Vogel suggests that state financial support, even temporary, could help the WRC and smaller “mid-size” wildlife centers ease the crunch. “It would give all of us a chance to grow our programs to meet the public’s desire for rehabilitation services,” she says.

Due to growing demand, the center is expanding its footprint. To augment its services at the Roseville facility, the WRC purchased a 22-acre site in Grant where it plans to build a long-term rehabilitation facility. With a $5 million lead gift from a longtime donor, the WRC will soon begin a multiyear capital campaign to raise the remaining $8 million needed to build the energy-efficient facility.

“Wild animals need appropriate outdoor caging for the final stage of rehabilitation,” Vogel says. “The new facility will allow us to meet current demands for services and leave room to grow over the next 10 years, while providing critical rehabilitation space for the patients.”

Suffering and Survival. Veterinarians do a hands-on examination of every patient brought to the WRC. As veterinarian Amanda “Rappy” Rappaport examines the mourning dove in the treatment room, she detects a tear in the bird’s crop, a pouch on the front of the neck for storing food and producing milk, which is much more concerning to her than an injured wing.

“Unfortunately, that crop doesn’t look good and healthy, which is more of a problem because that’s very difficult to heal,” she says.

In the end, she decides to humanely euthanize the bird because of its many injuries. Window strikes, like the one the mourning dove suffered, have about a 78 percent mortality rate, says Vogel, and the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service estimates they kill more than 1 billion birds annually. The WRC sees more than 300 birds injured by window strikes every year.

Rappaport checks on an American white pelican rehabbing after being shot and then examines a red fox kit that appears to be blind. Meanwhile, senior veterinarian Agnes Hutchinson, who like many other full-time staffers started at the WRC as a volunteer, examines baby rabbits. She brushes different colored nail polish on the ears of each little bunny to distinguish it from its littermates.

Hutchinson thrives in the fast-paced unpredictability and “craziness” of it all. She enjoys being creative and “MacGyvering” things in certain situations. Recently, she performed a life-saving surgery on a female bat that was pregnant with two pups. While in care, the bat gave birth to the first pup but had complications with the second. Hutchinson performed a procedure to remove it, saving the mom’s life. The mom and surviving pup were released after rehabilitation.

Hutchinson is often surprised at how much an animal can endure and still survive.

“When people ask me, ‘Should I bring this turtle in? It’s completely broken apart,’ I say, ‘Yes, it’s probably still alive.’ They’re dinosaurs. What we can do to help turtles and other animals and bring them back, it’s amazing.”

Despite their skills and resources, they can’t heal every animal. Sometimes euthanasia is the best solution.

“I don’t see it as a negative when I have to euthanize,” Hutchinson says. “I see it as a way to end suffering. We had a goose yesterday that was hit by a car. I lifted the towel, and one of the wings was so fractured I thought it was the other wing. Someone saw it, brought it to us and I could euthanize it humanely. It didn’t have to suffer out on the street.”

A Willingness to Help. The WRC can be a maze to an unfamiliar visitor. The hallways are lined with supplies—racks of towels, stacks of baskets, washers and dryers, a refrigerator filled with minnows. A dry board shows a map of the WRC made with tape. Rooms are labeled with erasable markers because their contents often change depending on the number and species of patients.

On the second Wednesday in May, a group of college interns sits in a circle on the floor of one of the mammal nursery rooms. They’re feeding babies, including Virginia opossums, eastern cottontail rabbits, and a southern flying squirrel.

Intern Emma Moen, who is majoring in biology at Bethel University, a short drive from the WRC, is holding a young opossum snugly wrapped in a small towel as she uses a syringe and a tube to feed it specialized formula.

“We call this ‘burritoing’ them,” she says. They’ll pull out the tube with their tiny fingers if they aren’t wrapped. The smallest babies require feeding three times a day.

“I’ve never experienced something like this before,” says Moen. “It’s been quite a treat to be able to work with these little guys. And then it all comes together when you get to release them when they’re older.”

In another mammal nursery exclusively housing squirrels, the volunteers are so busy weighing babies, checking and updating charts, mixing formula, and making sure there aren’t any escapees that there’s not much time for chatting.

Barb Neilson, a retired administrative law judge from Shoreview, takes a quick break from her tasks to answer a few questions. An animal lover, she says her work at the WRC has helped her learn to be more patient and stay calm, especially when things get hectic, like when a squirrel gets loose. Neilson enjoys watching baby animals develop into “feisty little critters” ready for release, and she appreciates the company of her fellow volunteers.

“I’ve made some really great friendships with a number of people here,” she says. “We have a lot in common—all of us have cats or dogs or both, care about animals, and have an interest in volunteering.”

While caring for an animal and watching it eventually be released back into its habitat is inspiring, Vogel says the wildlife rehabilitation field has a high burnout rate because staff and volunteers deal with so much death. If there’s one thing Vogel wants the public to know about the WRC, it’s that they are there to help.

“I wish they knew we are open seven days a week,” Vogel says. “We are happy to answer any questions they have about wildlife, whether it’s about nuisance wildlife or an animal that they’re not sure needs help. And we’re always here to take in sick, injured, and orphaned wildlife.”

Learn more about the Wildlife Rehabilitation Center, including how to donate or volunteer, at wrcmn.org. Check the website’s “critter ticker” to learn what animals have been admitted each day and see photos and updates on notable patients on the WRC Facebook page and Instagram.