Transcription Audio

Hello and welcome. If you care for Australian wildlife—or you’re thinking about stepping into rehabilitation—let’s talk like we’re in the field together, because the first hour often decides the outcome. Most losses don’t come from a lack of compassion. They come from missing systems, shaky species knowledge, and hesitation to make tough, ethical calls. The teams that win do the same things well: they stay legal, handle quietly, get husbandry right, bring vets in early, keep biosecurity tight, and plan release from day one. First, the foundation too many skip: law and ethics. In Australia, rehabilitating native wildlife is regulated. You need a licence or authorisation under your state or territory rules. Daily operations sit with the states and territories—even for nationally listed species under the EPBC Act. NSW uses the Code of Practice for Injured, Sick and Orphaned Protected Fauna. Victoria has the Minimum Standards for Wildlife Rehabilitation. WA, Queensland, SA, ACT, NT and Tasmania all have equivalents. What’s allowed in one place may be prohibited in the next, so local knowledge isn’t optional. Those rules aren’t red tape; they’re hard‑won protections shaped by species, climate, and conservation priorities. Ethically, the line is clear: rehabilitate when there’s a reasonable prospect of release to a functioning wild life. RSPCA Australia supports humane euthanasia when a good release isn’t achievable. That choice isn’t failure; it prevents suffering and can protect populations. Balancing individual welfare and species recovery takes science, experience, and emotional intelligence. Now, that first hour. Your instinct will say feed. The expert move is the opposite: stabilise first—heat, stress reduction, hydration—then nutrition. Step one: reduce stress. Quiet, darkness, minimal handling. Stress kills. Capture myopathy in macropods and emus is real. Create sensory relief: dark, quiet, still. No chatter, no photos, no fuss. Step two: normalise temperature. Without the right temperature, nothing else works. Neonate marsupials often need an artificial pouch at roughly 32–36°C. Birds need ambient warmth without drafts. Reptiles need a safe gradient to thermoregulate. Avoid direct contact with heat mats or unguarded lamps—burns are common. Use a thermometer. Don’t guess. Step three: hydration and shock, with veterinary guidance. If the animal is cold, dull, or neurologically abnormal, don’t give oral fluids—aspiration risk is high. Subcutaneous or IV fluids and early analgesia may be needed; that’s a vet call. The best rehabbers are on the phone within minutes, not hours. Only after warmth, calm, and a vet green light do we feed. Waiting protects the gut, prevents complications, and gives you time to observe breathing, mentation, posture—clues that guide triage. What separates top teams isn’t a single brilliant carer; it’s a system. Think of a triangle: - Embedded veterinary support: have a named, wildlife‑savvy vet for triage, pain relief, imaging. Build protocols together. Pre‑plan payment or charity arrangements. Review cases regularly so knowledge compounds. - Data discipline: record intake details, weights, temperatures, treatments, fecals, behaviours, milestones, outcomes. Compliance is required, but data also catches failure to thrive, adapts care to your local species and climate, and contributes to science. - Standard protocols and biosecurity: quarantine every intake. Use PPE appropriate to species and risk. Wash hands, disinfect, separate species and age classes, control vectors. Set a clean‑to‑dirty workflow. Screen for parasites or infectious disease when indicated. If an animal dies, seek necropsy to learn. Plan release from day one—this is not a pet; you’re building a wild survivor with a clear path back to habitat. Let me run through the mistakes I see most—and how to avoid them. 1) Feeding before stabilisation. Resist the bottle reflex. Heat, calm, hydration, vet, then feed. 2) Skipping authorisation or ignoring state standards. Get licensed, join an approved group, read your local code, and work inside it. 3) Overhandling and noise. Quiet hands. Dark box. Minimal contact, especially for macropods and emus. 4) Getting temperature wrong. Burns from direct heat sources are common. Guard your heat, measure, and for reptiles provide a gradient. 5) Delaying pain relief or vet involvement. Suspect trauma? Call early. Analgesia matters. Fractures, head injuries, internal trauma need imaging and proper care. 6) Wrong diet at the wrong time. Species‑specific nutrition is non‑negotiable. Track intake and daily weight. Watch for refeeding syndrome in compromised animals. 7) Poor record keeping. “I’ll remember” is a myth. Write down time and location found, condition, weight, temp, treatments, behaviours. Patterns only emerge when you track them. 8) Lax biosecurity. Don’t mix species. Don’t share equipment without disinfection. Don’t skip quarantine. One parasite or pathogen can crash your whole room. 9) Inappropriate housing. Enclosures must fit species’ social needs, stress tolerance, and development. Provide enrichment that builds wild skills while avoiding habituation. Avoid imprinting in birds; don’t chat with animals slated for release. 10) Transport mistakes. Loud cars, bright light, drafts, unsecured boxes—no. Secure, ventilated, dark, quiet wins. 11) Avoiding euthanasia when it’s the right call. Set humane endpoints with your vet and coordinator. When an animal can’t achieve a functional wild life, timely, humane euthanasia is good welfare and good ethics. 12) Poor release planning. Don’t rush. Choose the right site and season. Test fitness and flight. Consider predators and roads. Get landholder permissions. Use soft release when appropriate. Release at the right time of day for the species. 13) Lone‑wolf operations and burnout. Build a bench. Share notes. Plan handovers. Fatigue drives mistakes. 14) Failing to see the bigger picture. Keeping non‑releasables without permits, not reporting outcomes, or withholding data wastes hard‑won experience. Your notes might improve survival for the next hundred animals. Here’s a simple mental checklist for the first 60 minutes: - Call your coordinator and flag the intake. - Set up a dark, quiet, draft‑free container with appropriate warmth—measure it. - Keep hands off unless necessary. Observe from a distance. - Record where and when found, and site hazards. - Weigh if it’s safe and appropriate. - Do not feed. - Call your wildlife‑friendly vet for triage and analgesia guidance. - Start your record. - Park the animal in quarantine, away from kitchens and resident animals. From there, build the plan. What does species‑appropriate housing look like this week? What are the nutrition milestones? What behaviours must be present before release? Where is the release site, and does it meet habitat and safety criteria? Who’s your backup carer if you get sick? What’s your biosecurity protocol if a fecal or swab comes back positive? And most importantly, what are your humane endpoints if recovery stalls? I know this work can be emotionally brutal. The impulse to do something—anything—is strong. But the mark of a professional rehabber is discipline: legal, medical, and ethical. The quiet box in a dark room. The thermometer, not the hunch. The early vet call. The hard conversation about welfare when recovery isn’t realistic. Those choices save lives in ways frantic activity never will. If you want practical next steps: - Read your state or territory standards tonight. - Meet a wildlife‑friendly vet; draft simple triage and analgesia protocols for your top five species. - Build a first‑hour checklist and tape it inside your transport box. - Audit biosecurity: quarantine space, PPE, disinfection, vector control. - Sketch release criteria for each species: fitness tests, season, site, permissions, soft‑release needs. Success in wildlife rehabilitation is quieter and more systematic than most people expect. It lives in small, precise decisions you repeat every day. The first hour sets the trajectory. Stabilise first. Let welfare, data, and law guide your steps. Compassion isn’t measured by how much you do, but by how well you do what the animal actually needs. Thanks for spending this time with me. Go gently, lean on your team and your vet, and keep those systems sharp. Australia’s wildlife needs steady hands, clear heads, and hearts brave enough to do the right thing.