news-record.com

Two groundhogs climb the rails of a cage at her feet. On the kitchen table, plastic bowls make temporary nests for a blue jay and a woodpecker. A pair of lizards claim a space near the sink and just down a narrow hall, the chipmunks have the living room. A family of opossums, four bunnies, squirrels and larger birds live in the backyard.

“I have a message on my phone saying we’re full,” she says with a laugh. “But we still get them. I find boxes on my steps.”

As a licensed wildlife rehabilitator, Coe dedicates her days and much of her nights to injured animals. It started as a hobby, but once her name got out, that changed. Today, Coe and her nonprofit group, Piedmont Wildlife Rehab, take in more than 300 animals a year.

* * *

Coe learned everything she knows about birds from Trilby Thrall, a 30-year veteran of the business who has trained countless rehabbers.

For Thrall — a woman who brings her animals to work and on vacations, who was thrilled that her granddaughter’s first words were “Bird! Bird!” — the best part is letting them go.

But getting a bird or mammal ready for release is no easy task. In a good year, about half of the animals taken in will make it back to the wild.

Thrall never turns an animal away. People get her address from veterinarians or other rehabbers, and on this day, a man stops by with an injured red-headed woodpecker.

“Oh — shoot.” Thrall shakes her head, looks down at the bird in her hands, then back at the man. “That’s a dead leg.”

She thought it was just a broken wing. That could be fixed. But then she noticed the leg, hanging limp and cold at the bird’s side. This one would never survive in the wild. She gives it a shot for the pain and after work, takes it to a vet to be euthanized.

“I hate it,” she says. “But if you don’t develop that shell, you shouldn’t be rehabbing.”

* * *

Some days, it’s difficult, Coe says. But that doesn’t stop her from taking in every animal she can.

“(Home rehabilitators) do not have an easy road at all,” says Wendy Fox, president of the National Wildlife Rehabilitators Association . “People will bring them anything and everything to take care of. … People can knock on their door, and often do, at midnight.”

The job takes its toll — especially on their bank accounts. Rehabbers receive no government funding and most of the money comes out-of-pocket. Coe’s nonprofit covers the cost of seed and formula, and a local Food Lion donates produce. But ultimately, that’s just not enough, Coe says.

Her dream is simple: minimum wage for 8 hours a day, health insurance and one paid assistant.

In the long run, she would love to see a wildlife rehabilitation center in Greensboro where rehabbers could work together, take shifts, and then go home at night. She dreams of having a break.

But those dreams seem far-fetched at 7 a.m. when she starts her first round of feedings. They seem even more absurd when she finally falls asleep past midnight.

Thrall makes ends meet by relying on family. Owning her own business helps, too. But other rehabbers say her true strength is working with the public, explaining that she can’t afford to pick up every animal. Most people, Thrall said, are understanding.

“Once in a while you’ll get an idiot that calls and says, 'My tax dollars are paying you to do this!’ And I say, 'No, buddy. I’m a volunteer,’ ” she says.

Coe and Thrall say that’s not the only misconception out there. They spend a majority of their time on education, answering questions about animals’ habits and dispelling common wildlife myths.

Rehabilitators must be permitted either by the state or federal government, depending on the animal. But that doesn’t stop a lot of people from trying to care for wildlife themselves, Coe says.

Most of the time, that can be deadly for the animal.

Some days, rehabbers spend as much time talking with the public as they do caring for injured animals. It ties back to a deeper concern, a fear that humans have become too detached from nature.

And as development forces animals and humans into tighter quarters, the problems will only get worse, Fox says.

“Wildlife is the nation’s heritage. It belongs to everybody and it belongs to nobody,” she says. “…There has to be group of people who are educated on how to take care of these animals.”

* * *

By 10 a.m., Coe has fed about half the family, checking them off on a whiteboard in her kitchen. Today — a rare day with a volunteer — is going well. Claire Foxman , a Guilford College student , offers an extra set of hands about 25 hours a week.

But even with help, a house packed with nearly 50 animals is unavoidably hectic. Today, a bird is loose in the living room. It circles near the ceiling, slides against a window and flutters to the ground.

“Oh, he is so ready for the flight cage,” Foxman says.

The outdoor flight cage is the last step before release. Today one bird will return to the wild.

This is the difficult part — emotionally, yes — but also logistically. Catching a 6-inch bird in a 12-foot cage is no easy task.

At just over 5 feet , Coe jumps to get the birds moving, waving her arms in the air to shoo them to the other corner where Foxman waits with a net.

It takes a while, but eventually they get the one they’re looking for — a small house sparrow.

It’s a brief goodbye. Coe holds the bird to her chest for just a moment and then lets go, watching it fly to the nearest tree, then disappear into the branches.

For a while, the bird will return for food, taking worms or seed off a rusty table in Coe’s backyard. Some still take meals there years after their release. But most, Coe never sees again. Some rehabbers say that’s the hardest part, not knowing how the animal will fend in the wild.

But this is what Thrall lives for.

“What I love the most is when I open that flight cage and those birds fly up in the trees,” Thrall says. “They look down at me. … It’s like they’re saying, 'Thank you.’ That’s it right there.”

Contact Tricia L. Nadolny at 373-7028 or tricia.nadolny@news-record.com