The first animal I ever took to a rehabber was a kestrel. I can only imagine how terrified it must have been when I bent to scoop it up. My mother wouldn't have approved of me having it in the house, so I had to hide it in my room until my grandpa (who understood the situation)could get a hold of his neighbor, who was a certified rehabber, to ask when we could bring it. I kept it in a cat carrier with a cloth over it to darken it, but once the bird cried out in that loud shrill "KEEEE KEEEE KEEEEE!" and Mom came to the top of the stairs and called down to ask what that noise was she'd just heard. I told her it was the radio and she actually bought it, which is no surprise, considering the junk I listened to in high school. As a kid I was always running in and asking for a coffee can with a good tight lid or a jar or something, so by then she should have known better.
Anyway, the kestrel ended up making the rounds of classrooms and nature awareness programs because its wing was permanently damaged.