A Bird in the Hand

I have absolutely no pride in the picture above, but tons of self praise for the deed that preceded the photograhic embarassment.

I'm going to tell you the truth. In the years I've been on the planet? I may be able to count twenty incidents where I've performed good deeds, and then , with a "HOWDY HI HO SILVER," just faded into the woodwork and smiled in silence .

I mean we are talking some really dramatic life saving rescues. Those tales will remain untold. But today, for some reason, I just can't keep my mouth shut.

I HELPED SAVE A BABY BIRD. I  HELPED SAVE A BABY BIRD.

We're at Rhonda and Mark's place (stepdaughter and husband). They are getting ready to leave for the store. I hear some bird commotion out on the patio. I twist and see a little,  and I mean little, sparrow , trying desperately to flap it's wings.  It's MAMA shows up franticly looking for some miracle transport system that will take JUNIOR  back to the nest.

While I've done quite a few bird rescue stories over the years, my personal experience with injured avian beasts?

As a youth I see our pet canary Tweety fly right into the mouth of the neighbor's dog. [Dog's name is Antigone.]

I watch a sharp shinned hawk pick a house finch out of the air. The hawk sits about ten feet away plucking the feathers off the little finch as if preparing a turkey carcass for the holidays. 

Often these days, fledgling vegan birds fly full throttle into our picture window and suffer fatal brain injuries.

I pick them up by their spindly little feet and? One way or another I return them to the earth from whence they came.

I'm no bird apologist wimp. Nature will take it's  course. But just once I'd like to see a happy ending.

Mark and Rhonda know the thrill of bird rescue. They've rushed three of their little injured flying friends to shelter. I'm jealous.

So I'm scrambling around looking for a box to put  the little guy in. Well, whilst the box search is underway, the little sparrow takes a hike. Mark and Rhonda head out and I'm left "holding the box."

Suddenly out of the corner of my left eye I see some patio movement. With box in hand I rush to the scene, and ignoring it's THWEEP, THWEEP, I gently pick up the panicked bird with a paper towel? I gently lower it's near weightless form into the box.

My naivete sets in. Mark and Rhonda were planning on soaking some dry dog food in water to feed the little guy. I do that? Put some on the end of my finger?  And say to the bird, "HERE!"

Mark and Rhonda return and I learn the soft dogfood needs to be stuffed down a syringe? Then you tap the bird on the end of it's beak? It opens up, and you shove it in. What a thrill!

Well now the little guy's THWEEPS, THWEEPS  are growing in energy and frequency. We put him in a car ambulance and race across town to deliver him to a rescue group that says it won't send our friend off to bird heaven.

At the shelter I bull my way into the back to see how other injured birds are being treated. I am quickly booted out by some officious bird person.

Well that's mostly the end of the story. It's out of our hands now. The outcome will only be known by the bird brains we've left him with.  He may be only released to be devoured by a sharpshined hawk.  Maybe he'll be Antigone's lunch.  But please, don't tell me about it.

Why? Cause I HELPED SAVE A BIRD!