A curious thing happened this afternoon. Perched in my ‘office’ balcony, I noticed those walking along the sidewalk stop, look, one even took a photograph, and walk on past a ‘blob’ before them. My eyes are not as sharp as they used be, but I could swear it was alive.
A nestling, all small body and tendril feet, all yellow beak and few feathers sat, fat, squat and squeaking on the sidewalk, fallen from the nest too soon.
What do we do? What do I do? Go sigh, this is a problem I know not how to deal with. Baby has fallen from home. Cannot even see home high up high. What to do with the nestling who will surely not survive but cannot walk away. Me and animals. Most of us and animals (except for those who leered and left) and memories of my childhood attempts at being a vet with all those baby birds. Pushing pulp of bread and milk on match sticks down their throats – I think they did all die. We had a bird cemetery in our garden.
My childhood heart did not cope well with dying baby birds. Oh my God, how I cried. Prayed so hard.
Picking up baby, lice crawled over my hands – are these birds really infested so much? The chirping did not stop, but more so, I could hear an echo to its cries. Mother was close. In a box I popped it, as we do on a bit of paper towel and placed it back on the lawn to observe from my ‘hideout’ up high. And called the vet. Bring the baby in.
The thing is, when I went back outside, mother was right there, feeding her nestling and flitting about in panic. She did not care for my presence, her mind on her young one. A neighbour found another, we put them side by side, all the while mother close, on the grass, up and over, diving and darting with bits of food. Together we made the decision to place the babies (at least they are together now) on the top of the hedge and pray for the best. Let nature take it’s course sort of thing. And I hear little now, hoping they are asleep and plans are being formulated (the vet told me this) for the mother to get them back to the nest. How, but how I wonder.
More than that. I keep thinking about the mother. God will decide on the young. The mother, I saw such panic, and such bravery in her angst. Protective instincts in overdrive, loss and panic. As small as she was in this big world, nothing mattered but her young.
I am an overprotective mother. I have hovered, or helicoptered, around my children for they are my purpose. This is part of my dilemma. When and how to let go. For too long I have been the centre of their Universe, and they mine, and what happens now when they are grown and gone. And how fortunate that I had them close, not scared and far from the nest when they were young. The horror some mothers have had to endure, like bird mother, I cannot imagine.
We speak of animals and letting nature take it’s course. The world will take my children elsewhere. So difficult for moms, and dads.
I sit here now, praying that they will be safe, those little nestlings, and mom will make a plan. The neighbours have been to check, I listen for sounds but it is quiet. Going to pray hard tonight.
Images pintrest, crookedhouse