We love birds, even “bad” birds
like hawks when they stay out of our yard. Hawks elsewhere are magnificent but
when they are preying on our Bluebirds and Cardinals and Chickadees…well…then
the hawks need to go elsewhere. When a hawk swoops down in our backyard amidst
the feeders the other birds and squirrels and chipmunks make like the
population of London
during the Blitz and disappear…only venturing out again when the “all clear” is
sounded.
Sitting on the screened-in porch
in the evening and watching birds at the feeders, listening to their songs and
calls, is as soothing an hour or two as there is on this planet. The rub is
that investment in life is also investment in tragedy and death.
We had a decorative bird house that
was purchased from Costco years ago, it was about a foot high with a high round
opening, and this year we put it on a little wood table that is part of our
outdoor furniture setting. No bird family had ever taken up residence in this
birdhouse, that is until this year. The delight we had in watching Mr. &
Mrs. Chickadee going to and fro from this birdhouse, carrying nesting material
was only surpassed by the cheeps of little chicks. Once the chicks broke
through the eggs we watched day after day as the parents mimicked the Berlin
Airlift by ferrying food back and forth to their brood.
Mr. & Mrs. Chickadee, food in
beak, would approach the birdhouse cautiously, eyes and head darting right and
left and up and down, making sure that it was safe to enter the house. If we
were in close proximity, or if one of the dogs was nearby, the parent took
extra time to ensure that we posed no threat to its young.
“I don’t hear the little birds.”
“I wonder if they left the nest?”
“I haven’t seen them.”
“Let me open the top of the
birdhouse and see what’s going on.”
They were dead. So sad. All that
joy and delight and life gone – gone from Mr. & Mrs. Chickadee and gone
from Bob and Vickie.
I’m not sure why they died; there
are various possibilities – chicks die in the nest for a number of reasons. But
here’s what I think after reading up on chicks and nests – I think the opening
was too high for the little ones to get out and I think the sides of the house
were too slick for them to climb. And that makes me even sadder because I think
I should have known; if I was going to invite a bird family to use a house rent
free I should have known. I put the little dead chicks in a place in the woods
where hopefully they wouldn’t be disturbed, and I put the birdhouse in the
trash.
Yesterday Lily and Lina were
barking, it was the “cat” bark – the cat was somewhere near. As Vickie
investigated she discovered that the cat had attacked a fledging Robin. Before
the cat could pounce again Vickie scared the cat off and ran in the house to
get me. The little Robin, feathers missing and blood on its back, was in the
rose garden.
After I got a cardboard box from
the garage we managed to catch the bird and put it in the box. Then I called a
wildlife rescue hotline and waited for a call back.
Since the box was tall I didn’t
close the top, thinking that the Robin was in no condition to escape – that
shows you what I know about birds. It was soon out of the box and hopping down
the driveway. Lily and Lina looked at the poor thing but didn’t approach it.
Vickie and I tried to corner the bird and cover it with a towel, but as soon as
we’d get a foot or two near it off it would hop in another direction. Finally
the little guy (girl?) hopped into a 3 x 3 patch of ivy at the base of a lamppost
by our entrance walk. Surely we had it now.
Five minutes, ten minutes,
carefully probing the ivy with our fingers so as not to hurt the injured
fledging – where could it have gone? Finally I saw it, burrowed in the dirt,
hunkered down to escape notice; I carefully cupped my hands around it and
lifted it up for the trip back to the box; the little rascal biting my finger
during the entire trip – good thing I had gloves on.
Throughout all of this I was
talking to wildlife rehab volunteers at various times. There was the first lady
from Northern Virginia, who gave me three numbers in the Richmond area. Then there was Linda, Lynn,
Chris, Melinda, and Theresa. Since the bird had been attacked by a cat it was
important to get it to a rehabber who had antibiotics.
Down to the Chester
– Hopewell area I went with the fledging to
Theresa’s – Theresa and her fellow area volunteers are members of ARK – Area Rehabbers
Klub. I felt hope when Theresa looked into the box and said, “Its wings look
good, and it looks like it’s been eating since it’s been out of the nest, I
think we have a good chance with this one. I have a couple more inside who
haven’t been eating, I’m hoping when they see this one eat that they’ll start
eating too.”
As she was talking to me two men
got out of a pickup with their own box, curled up in which was a tiny deer;
since it was almost an albino it may have been abandoned by its mother.
Theresa’s husband took the deer into their barn and Theresa took our Robin into
her house to administer antibiotics. What a great group of people, volunteering
their time and talent to help creation.
I blew it with the Chickadees,
maybe thanks to Theresa and her friends we saved a Robin.
This afternoon Vickie and I sat
on the front porch with Lina and Lily, listening to the songs and calls of
birds. A couple of weeks ago, commenting on the sweet honeysuckle fragrance of
spring, Vickie said, “I think heaven is going to smell like this.”
I think Vic is probably right. I
also have an idea that we’ll hear some bird songs – only our Father could
arrange such orchestration and create such instruments.
Excuse, it’s time to go check the
feeders and hear evensong.
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