BECKY JO AND CHARLIE

CHARLIE is a blue and gold macaw, and Becky Jo raised him from an egg fourteen years ago.  He'd survived the first attack by raccoons on her exotic birds and she'd doubled the bird-wire on the bottom of the cages so it wouldn't happen again, but it did.   This time, they must have worked as a team, one spooking the birds from beneath the suspended cages, and one lying in wait on the top where the wire hadn't been doubled.  A yellow headed Amazon was killed right away, grabbed by his feet as he clung in fright upside down.  He'd gone into shock with the loss of a leg, and it was over.

It wasn't that easy for Charlie though.  He too lost a leg and a couple of toes on the remaining foot, but fell to the bottom of the cage and was still alive when Becky Jo found him.

He'd been so traumatized  by the ordeal that he was barely clinging to life that she spent hours comforting him before she judged that he was able to tolerate a trip to the vets office. 

When the raccoon had pulled Charlie's left leg through the bird-wire, Charlie's leg band had saved his life.  He might have bled to death had it not served as a kind of tourniquet.  The band had closed off the blood vessels in what was left of the thigh. 

The nearest veterinarian advertised that she worked on birds, and it seemed to be a simple matter of repairing or removing what remained of the leg, but after collecting her $25.00 fee for the office visit, she referred Charlie to the  'exotic bird specialist"  some 50 miles away.  The second vet told Becky Jo that Charlie was a waste of  time and money and that if he survived the operation, he'd be a worthless, expensive burden, unable to perch or feed himself.

Becky Jo wanted a second opinion, and she got it from Charlie.  She looked into his chameleon-like eyes, and asked him if he'd rather live as an invalid or be put to sleep, and he squawked ever so loudly , "I want to live".

He may not have used those exact words, but she knew that's what he meant.  Six hundred dollars later, Charlie was ready to go home.  He'd lost a bit of weight, but his spirit was still strong, and that night he proudly stood on his crippled foot, the one he had left, and drank all by himself. 

The 'exotic bird specialist had given Becky Jo instructions for dealing with the stitches. If he was still alive at the end of ten days, she was to take Charlie back to the first vet, the one nearest home for removal of the stitches, but we already had a good idea of what that was all about.   The two animal-care facilities seemed to be in cahoots for collecting fees, and both of us had plenty of experience in doctoring critters.  We were also on the road doing concerts, and Charlie needed special attention so he went with us.  When the time came for removing the stitches, we were in rural New Mexico, many miles from professional help, so the hood of the Nissan became the operating table on a sunny day in February.

The vet had removed Charlie's breast feathers, and tape that help the bandage in place was secured to the skin, so it had to be removed very carefully, not an easy task.  The worst part of the job was the odor.   We knew right away that something was dreadfully wrong. As the tape was peeled back from his crop, we could see a gaping hole with putrid flesh.  He had developed gangrene .  We quietly reapplied a fresh bandage, and in great haste drove to Arizona where our manager knew of  a good vet, not an 'exotic bird specialist', but a decent, honest care giver.    Nobody had noticed the injury to the crop and it hadn't been treated at all, so it had slowly become worse under the cover of the bandage.  The antibiotics had helped a bit, but as the severity of the damaged tissue grew, the system was overwhelmed, and Charlie was at death's door.

The Arizona vet did the best she could but under the circumstances, the prognosis wasn't very promising. The hole in the crop was still there,.   The decaying flesh had been removed, but there was no way to close the gap.

On the long drive back to  back to California, Charlie sat between us on the front seat. He was very weak, but still had an appetite and he was drinking quite often. Then we noticed that the towels becky Jo had placed under him were wet, soaked in fact, and  we discovered the cause. Every time  Charlie took a drink of water, most of it came out through the hole in his crop.  He was drinking but he was still thirsty.  He was also having trouble, it seemed, drawing water into his mouth.  I reasoned that he couldn't get enough suction because of the hole in his crop, but there was little if anything we could do to help.  Then he did an amazing thing.  I was driving as Becky Jo gave me a play by play description.  

He broke a peanut shell in half, trimmed the loose fibers from the shell, and dipped the half-shell into the water dish, filling both depressions in the shell the raised the shell until the water poured into his open  mouth.  He kept doing this over and over again.  Much of the water was escaping through his crop but he was finally getting enough water in his system.   This was the best use of tools I think I ever saw. 

Charlie's still at it, making all the concert appointments with us.   He seems to like being on the road, especially when Becky Jo cuddles with him.    He watches the scenery, ducks when we drive beneath overpasses, and is wary of overhead utility wires.     His crop has healed itself from the  inside out.     He still makes use of the peanut shell dipper, but now only when the water gets low in his bow.  He's gotten used to Vecca the dog's being around, no longer sees her as another troublesome raccoon, squawks when her tail whips past his cage in the backseat.

Every once in a while, I can't help but ask Charlie if he's changed his mind about wanting to live.  I know all of it is difficult for him, and one might assume there comes a point when it's just not worth the effort.  He says it all with his eyes, as he stands tall on his single leg.   "I'm still here, still with the program, Don't believe everything those vets tell you".

Printed with permission of

Animeals.com

Story contributed by Randy Sparks, founder of the New Christy Minstrels with permission of Cherrybell Music. 

Randy Sparks and Becky Jo Benson travel extensively countrywide making concert appearances.