Once upon a time, after a lovely Thanksgiving meal, I was taking a stroll down the street with my father and children. As we walked by one house we spotted a vulture up on the front porch. I was perplexed and wanted to get a closer look. As I walked up to do so, the vulture jumped of the porch and ran for the garage, dragging its broken wing behind it.
My sons and I went home and got a large cat carrier, a sheet, and a broom. We ran back and followed the vulture into another neighbor's garage. We cornered him and gently swished him into the cat carrier. He was rather heavy, so my older son went back home to get the car. We chauffeured the vulture "home" in style.
After contacting the wildlife rehabilitation officials I was told that they did not rehabilitate vultures and that I could keep it. "Mr. Vulture" was the strangest pet I have had yet.
We of course took him to school for morning "science time", then he enjoyed his new home: my back yard.
Because he couldn't fly, I felt sorry for him and built him a vulture ladder. Using his beak and talons he could climb up the ladder into the tree. Then he could pretend to be a normal vulture. I also made a side ladder that went up on top of our shed. I would throw bones with meat on them to the top of the shed and he would venture over there and eat them. He never got really tame, but he would let us get pretty close to him. He smelled horrible.
One day he edged out on the branches just far enough to hop over the fence. The first time he did this we were able to retrieve him, the second time we were not so fortunate.
We never saw Mr. Vulture again.