It’s August 3rd. I receive a call about a bat found at the base of a tree. According to the person who found him, he has “sticky stuff” on his back. The individual explains that they asked the nearby construction crew if they knew anything about the bat. A worker replied that one of the crew members saw the bat and was afraid it would bite him so he tossed it into a bucket of carpenters glue. Another crew member removed the bat and called an animal control officer. The officer said to throw the bat outside. The bat had been abandoned at the base of the tree all morning. But to his fortune, a kind soul spotted him on their morning walk.
I receive a photo. My heart hurts, for I’ve seen this kind of damage before.
The reaction from the crew is not uncommon. People fear bats. They always have. Bela Lugosi did bats no favors and terrified many a young teenager as he stepped from is daytime coffin-bed to suck the blood of unsuspecting humans in the 1931 film Dracula. Irrational hysteria ensued and the image was seared into many peoples’ minds.
As a result, bats are often considered dangerous and evil. Because of such fiction, people fear the “rabid,” “blood sucking,” “hair tangling” monsters that they are told are so unlike ourselves. Bats are small, flying creatures that come out at night which makes them all the more mysterious. Unfortunately this same scenario of fear and hysteria plays out with many of the other animals I care for, including porcupines, skunks and coyotes. And, granted, as with all wildlife, these animals can be problematic at times. Yet we think there is nothing we can consume or use from them, so therefore, unlike the elk and deer and moose, they are categorically considered vermin.
I look at the photo of the bat and hear his story. I know this bat is in trouble. He is thin, evidenced by the hollow indentations on either side of his body. Dehydration and glue removal are my immediate concerns.
The bat is taken to one of my volunteers. She takes additional photos and removes as much glue as possible. The bat makes his way to me a few hours later. His skin is so red and raw, pulled tightly against his body. I can’t find a site to inject SubQ fluids.
A bat cannot and will not eat if he is dehydrated. They shut down. This is why we often find bats on the ground in hot weather. They are dehydrated, they can no longer fly and can therefore no longer engage in nightly foraging.
I offer fluids and pain meds as I take a closer look. The bat, known as a large brown, is crumpled in the corner of a cardboard box. Trying not to disturb him, I place a syringe to his lips. He eagerly drinks. With gloved hands I pick him up. His chin is glued to his shoulder and prevents him from eating or turning his head. His sensitive ear is folded over and glued to itself. From the tip of his brow to the end of his tail membrane is covered in dried glue. Bits of branches, grass and other debris cling to his fur. He can not unfold his wings. Glue has sealed them together.
I have removed several bats from sticky traps that are used to kill flies or misquotes. This process can take hours. A haunting image of a small black myotis in such a situation is seared into my own memory with just as much impact as Dracula seared his unfounded bat hysteria into the minds of so many almost a century ago. The tiny myotis bat had both wings spread wide on either side of her body. Glue covered her back and both wings. Her mouth was opened wide with tongue thrust forward. She could not even turn her head. She had struggled for hours before I got her. “Jesus Christ,” I thought, “you remind me of Jesus Christ hanging on the cross, unable to move, thirsty and exhausted. Pinned.”
I lift the large brown bat from the box and confirm the glue is also on his belly. As I continue to examine him, I thinking he is a female. His genitals are folded over and glued to his belly, giving the appearance of female genitalia. It will be several days later I will notice my mistake. The bat I now call Spiros crawls over my hands and rests his head, still attached to his shoulder, despite the fact that the majority of the human contact he’s had up until this point has been malicious and cruel. Spiros does not try to bite me or hide as I prepare to remove the glue. Instead, it’s as if he knows and waits, trusting the very creatures who caused this mess (us humans) to help him this time.
Trust given from a wild animal is truly a sacred bond.
To remove adhesive from a bat or any other animal saturated in glue, I use olive oil. Olive oil is gentle on raw, exposed skin. It can be removed with Dawn soap afterwards.
Holding Spiros, I drop a Q tip into the oil and gently rub it on his body. His skin starts to respond by twitching and shuddering. Some of the glue easily slides off, while other chunks around his head and neck are to thick to loosen. Spiros’ mouth is open. I try to release his jaw from his shoulder. Once free he turns his head from side to side much as one does to loosen a neck cramp.
Spiros is coated in oil. His ear is still folded over so I let that be. He is worn-out and I am concerned he’ll become too exhausted to survive. So I place him in a container with a heating pad. The oil collapses his downy fur and causes him to cool down. I don’t want him to get cold in his fragile condition.
A bat uses its ears much like humans use their eyes, echolocating using clicking sounds from their throats. The sound is above any frequency we can detect, but it is also very loud for the bat’s sensitive ears. As the bat emits this high frequency sound, his ear canals seal off to protect his ears from the intensity of the sound. Just as the bat’s echolocation hits the desired object (in this case, an insect) the ear reopens to allow the echo to return and guide the bat to his dinner. Even if Spiros could fly, he would still starve because the glue has folded and affixed his ear in place, preventing the use of echolocation. I know the marathon he is in for- Spiros won't fly or feed himself for months.
Check back soon for Spiros: the Glue Bat (Part III).
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