The Savannah Belles Stage a Comeback

Some were almost too young to survive without their mothers. Many were dehydrated for the same reason, and all of them were terrified when they arrived at Heth Haven. A fellow rehabber from the Savannah area had sent her last batch of rescued orphan raccoon babies to Mark Heth as she reluctantly surrendered her license to handle and care for wildlife. For many years, her dedication to injured, sick and orphaned wildlife on Georgia’s coast brought many small creatures back from the brink of death. But now, as with many who have endured the sleepless nights of hourly feedings, endless cage cleaning and escalating costs, she had to call it a day.

Some animal lovers have been forced out of their life’s work by the brutal realities of a tough economy. Food, habitat upkeep and medicines are only part of the picture. Fuel figures into the cost as well, since most rehabbers are expected to drive unimaginable distances at all hours to answer distress calls from homeowners, landscapers and others who discover helpless animals in need.

Mark Heth’s colleague had just received a box of young raccoons in various states of distress as she shut down her operation. There was little information on the age and origins of the twelve babies. How were they found? When? Where? As it often happens, that information was not available and the reality remained, as it always does. Just pick ‘em up and do the best you can with what you do know.

After a hurried rendezvous and hand-off, Mark Heth and his leading volunteer rehabber, Cyndi Bradley, assessed the newest guests at Heth Haven. They fashioned a makeshift, interim structure by linking two large pet crates together. Dishes of KMR, or kitten replacement milk, food and pans of water were placed throughout the carriers. Soft, clean towels, perfect for burrowing and bunching up, lined the floor.

For hours, the newcomers were oblivious to the hospitality of their hosts. They pressed into the corners of the carriers, tiny noses upturned, eyes closed, paws clenched beside their anxious faces in fear.

“These guys are totally freaked out,” Heth observed grimly. “We won’t be able to handle them for a few more hours yet, they’re so scared.”

Bradley watched, worried, as the KMR went untouched for several hours. These babies needed to drink.

But this extremely hot June day wasn’t exactly their first rodeo, as the saying goes. Bradley and Heth went about their daily care of the other, older animals at Heth Haven, stopping every few minutes to talk softly to the new arrivals, or to click and whistle like their mothers would have in the wild. In between these calming approaches, Bradley realized they drained the dishes of KMR and were looking somewhat better. Half an hour later, Heth’s “mama talk” was rewarded when a few of the bolder baby raccoons crept over to the side of the carrier, peered at him through the side window openings and softly chattered back.

Fast forward two weeks and look at them now. The Savannah Belles are doing fine, thank you.

“We are still working on trust,” Cyndi Bradley observed. To prove it, she held out her hand to a couple of the babies after she cleaned their habitat structure and brought fresh food. One little one jumped back, two sniffed her hand appreciatively and one rewarded her with a timid nuzzle. Others ignored her as they chased each other through a bit of half-buried pipe, a favorite place to play and sleep that gave them a nest-like feeling of security. A couple stopped playing and emerged from a carrier padded with clean towels, their fur glossy with returning health and eyes bright with intelligent curiosity.

“We’re getting there,” Bradley grinned.