From South African Wildlife Rehabilitation Center

We headed off to a mushroom farm to collect a rather defeated young Barn owl who had apparently hit a serious spore patch in life.

The youngster had been found near the massive compost heap looking decidedly un-fungi-like... grounded, miserable and unable to fly. We quickly bundled her up and made our way home, exceptionally grateful to have missed peak hour traffic.

Back at the rehab, Truffle underwent her full examination.

Her wings worked perfectly.

Her legs and talons were functional, (although a little weak).

But her attitude was temporarily out to lunch.

The real clue came when we opened her beak to inspect her throat and palate.

A bird's mouth can tell us an enormous amount ... dehydration, identify (some) illnesses and parasites, possible concussion & poisoning... (it's basically the avian version of reading tea leaves, except significantly smellier).

The colouring inside Truffle's mouth suggested we could potentially be dealing with poison exposure, concussion... or a nasty little cocktail of both.

Without much hesitation, we launched into a full system flush in an attempt to eliminate any toxins affecting this beautiful young owl.

Coming from a farm where rodenticides may be used to protect produce .. alongside the various chemicals needed to keep mushrooms looking five star gourmet instead of "forest accident,"the probability of Truffle ingesting something tainted was unfortunately fairly high.

For the next few hours we continued flushing her system, while allowing her to rest between treatments, tucked up against a heating pad like the world's angriest hot water bottle.

Then... sometime around 1am... things started looking far less shiitake.

Her eyes brightened.

Her posture improved.

The lights came back on upstairs.

This morning, Truffle is UP. She is glaring at us with that trademark Barn owl menace, like she pays taxes here, and has enthusiastically demolished the food we offered her. (We are, naturally, pretending to be absolutely terrified of her).

She still smells faintly ripe from the compost, but we think this little owl may finally be out of the woods.

Or should we say...

...out of the mushroom patch.