C. E. Spaulding D. V. M - The Complete Care of Baby Animals: Expert Advice on Raising Orphaned, Adopted, or Newly Bought Kittens, Puppies, Foals, Lambs, Chicks, and More

THE COMPLETE CARE OF

BABY ANIMALS

THE COMPLETE CARE OF

BABY ANIMALS

Expert Advice on Raising Orphaned, Adopted, or Newly
Bought Kittens, puppies, Foals, Lambs, Chicks, and More

BY C. E. Spaulding, D.V.M., AND Jackie Clay

Skyhorse Publishing

Copyright 2011 by C. E. Spaulding, D.V.M., and Jackie Spaulding

All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner without the express written consent of the publisher, except in the case of brief excerpts in critical reviews or articles. All inquiries should be addressed to Skyhorse Publishing, 307 West 36th Street, 11th Floor, New York, NY 10018.

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available on file. ISBN: 978-1-61608-288-8

Printed in China

To all the special babies in our past and
future, the ones for whom this book was
written.

IT WAS 3:00 AM when we became aware that the phone was ringing. I poked Bill in the ribs, while fighting the usual panic. At that hour no one calls socially, and it is usually an emergency. I listened to a groggy Dr. Spaulding speaking, and tried to figure out, by hearing the one side of the conversation, what was going on.

In a minute Bill hung up the phone. A foal had been born that evening and the owner had just found the mare dead in the stall. He wondered if we would take the foal to raiseif not, he would knock it in the head. At our house, saying no in such a case is unheard of. So, we got dressed. While I was thawing out some frozen colostrum (ko-l-strum), the protective and nutrition-rich first milk reserved from a mare of our own, Bill got the coffee started. Then we sat down to wait for the new addition to be delivered, and we talked about some of our past animal babies.

There have been a lot of them, and there will be a lot more!

The smallest of the babies we adopted were two naked, blind, newborn jumping mice. We found these, along with a lumpy black snake (indicating the final resting place of the babies mother and other members of the family) near a nest in a hollow log. The mice were about the size of large beans. With no electricity at our cabin and with tiny babies that needed the warmth of an incubator, we had to make do. They were popped into a pint jar, along with a handful of cotton for a nest. A few holes were punched in the top, and the small jar was suspended in a gallon jar half-full of warm water. The mice would be warm enough.

Then there was the problem of feeding them. Even we don't carry a complete line of baby animal equipment into the woods! And, even if we did, very tiny mice cannot suck from a doll bottle. Finally, we discovered a piece of absorbent string, which we kept soaked in warm milk. It acted as a wick, and the babies soon learned where their new mama was, and nursed about every 20 minutes. The milk had to be changed every three hours to keep it fresh. But it worked! Soon they had a fine coat of fur and their eyes were open. It wasn't long before they would hop into a cupped hand and beg for treats. It was truly survival on a string!

AND THERE WAS Horace the grebe. He was a very late hatch and could not migrate when winter came on. The local game warden brought him to us, along with a permit, asking that we care for him. Grebes were quite rare in our areaso rare in fact that we had never seen one, and hardly even knew what one was! Horace's first home was a bushel basket in the kitchen. About all he did for a week was cuss and gulp down small minnows. And could he eat! I'd hate to be a mother grebe!

He grew and feathered out nicely. But, with size, he became discontented with the confines of the basket. He angrily hopped up and down, and eventually tipped it over. A big cardboard box was no better. Finally, a corner of the bathroom was made into a grebe house. Remember that grebes, like a lot of other water birds, are messy house petsand they show no inclination toward becoming housebroken! Both Horace and our family liked the new arrangement better, especially since the bathroom contained, of course, a bathtub. Soon that became a grebe pool. A lot of that winter was spent buying minnows from a local bait shop. Horace's daily ration of minnows cost $2.50! But, what the heck, how many people have a real, live grebe swimming in their bathtub?

WE WERE DRIVING to town one morning, thinking of anything but another orphan. On the highway, only a few blocks from the outskirts of town, I caught a glimpse of a little fawn on the shoulder of the road. She was alone. After a quick (and illegal!) U-turn, we pulled off onto the shoulder to watch the fawn. Something was wrong. A week-old fawn does not just venture about without a watchful doe very close by.

The fawn bounded onto the highway and ran up and down, bleating frantically. She was nearly hit by a truck before we could reach her. Then, frightened, she ran off the highway and into a woven-wire fence. By then we could see that her hind legs had been torn. We chased her down, with passing cars slowing to watch the crazy people. Our intention was to examine her wounds, then give her a boost over the fence so she would not be hit by a car.

We caught her and carried her up to our truck, amid terrified bleats and a thrashing of very sharp, tiny hooves. Upon restraining her on the seat, we could see that the wounds on her legs and hind quarters were bites, either from dogs or coyotes. But, because we were so close to town, we strongly suspected dogs.

About that time, the local police car pulled up. From the policeman we found out that a doe had just been killed by two dogs. They had chased her right into town! That explained the absence of the fawn's mother and the confusion of the fawn. And, it explained the bites on her legs.

So, Dotty, the white-tailed fawn, joined the crew at the farm. We put her in a box stall, without a window, as we have seen a tiny fawn try to leap through a window five feet from the floor! Her first feeding was quite a battle. It took three adults to give Dotty her first bottle. The only way we could restrain her safely was to have me straddle her in a prone position, while a neighbor held her hind feet still, and Bill her front feet. In this ungainly and unlikely position, Dotty took her first bottle. The second feeding only took Bill and me. We were kicked a few times, but we made it. The third feeding I managed by myself, after backing Dotty into a corner. I still had to straddle her, but she remained standing.