I’ve always been bats about bats. Long before I spent a week under the spell of a little brown bat Mirella had proudly carried in, I read about bats and looked bug-eyed at pictures of them. The phrase I most uttered while under the enchantment of bats was “W…wow!”
Long after “Bat Masterson” had crept out of my life (flying off into the upper reaches of my Oregon barn), I would giggle uncontrollably just to think of him. Little brown bats are exactly that—little. My torn-wing charge needed to be fed with a surgical irrigating syringe. A bigger dropper than that and I’d have quickly drowned him. The only way I could guide the syringe to the pin-prick hole that he claimed for a mouth was to use a magnifying glass. Read the rest of this entry »


