GRAND RAPIDS, Mich. — In the Albatross Aviary, a nonprofit bird rescue, Gairen Tembruell works as somewhat of an underpaid babysitter— the Cesar Millan of abandoned birds.
"Essentially, I run a daycare," Tembruell said. "We teach them how to share food, share space, share the resources around them."
What Steve Irwin was for reptiles— a charismatic conservationist who taught people that reptiles aren't always meant to be kept as pets— Tembruell is trying to be the same for birds. His aviary, however, is flying short on funds, in need of $3,500 by the end of the month.
"It's a burden," Tembruell said about operating costs, which include a $2,400 monthly rent payment for a property on Bridge Street in West Grand Rapids. "I haven't been able to save up."
In 2015, Tembruell founded the nonprofit, following a motorcycle accident where he suffered broken hips, ribs, and a traumatic brain injury. At the time, a medical animation professor at Kendall College of Art and Design, the lasting effects from the crash forced him out of the field.
Then, he lost his home.
"I was a bit suicidal," Tembruell said. "But the thing is, [my birds] actually gave me a purpose."
Taking care of four birds, Tembruell stumbled into what he calls "the crisis of unwanted birds."
"As they bounce from home to home, they end up getting behavioral issues that kind of stack," he said, noting that birds are the third most popular pet, but the first to be surrendered.
"Most people that have birds don't understand what they're getting into," Tembruell said. "[They] treat them like goldfish."
Basing his practice on child development trauma techniques, Tembruell opened Albatross Aviary, where he now takes care of 89 abandoned and neglected birds.
"We make sure to give the birds what they need as far as healthy diets and habitats," he said. "Then [it's about] validating a lot of their fears and discomfort."
For example, a 32-year-old Moluccan Cockatoo named Stanley came to the aviary with "a gamut of problems," including screaming, biting, plucking, and cursing.
Through highly-interactive care and corrective action, the aviary brought Stanley back around, turning him into a success story.
"[We] cater to each bird specifically," Tembruell said. "Through that, we're able to curb a lot of aggression and anti-social behaviors."
No matter how many beautiful birds Albatross Aviary rehabilitates, though, rent is always due at the end of the month, and Tembruell— who runs a one-man show with the occasional volunteer— doesn't make much money off of adoption fees, due to an extensive adoption process.
The nonprofit's primary source of income, then, comes from donations, and Tembruell says birds are worth more than money.
"When we take a look at things of value that aren't monetary— flowers, gemstones, birds and music— these are all things that have been intrinsically tied to a value structure of beauty, and what it means to be alive."
To donate to Albatross Aviary, visit its website.
