8 2006 |
Earlier that day we had bought a plastic kiddie pool at a rummage sale. Hunter spent much of the afternoon splashing around in it, but we left it unattended for fifteen minutes and now somebody had fallen in.
When bringing back the dogs, Hunter let us know about the pool tresspasser.
"A bird falled in the pool and it can't get out."
We reassured him that it was probably just taking a bath, but I finished up what I was doing and went out to check on it.
There was no longer any splashing, but I did find a very exhausted blackbird. Its wings were spread out wide and were doing an OK job of floating, but his center of gravity was a bit too far forward and had to kick his legs to keep his beak above water. I scooped it up and set it on the driveway next to the pool. It didn't struggle, but when I set it down it didn't fall over or appear too injured. The blackbird was exhausted, maybe it strained something, but mostly it just needed to dry out.
We were preparing to walk down to the Chinese buffet on Broadway, so I went back inside. As we departed we decided to empty out the pool to prevent anything bad from happening while we were away. D considered putting something in the pool for a hapless bird to stand on if it got into trouble, but that seemed less safe than just draining it.
The blackbird I had rescued was still there. It had squeezed itself as far under the lip of the pool as possible. I worried he'd get hurt as we messed with the pool, so I picked him up again. Again, it didn't struggle, but as I wrapped my fingers underneath it did the same thing our cockateel does when it feels a finger near its belly: the blackbird grabbed on and tried to stand up.
Our cockateel, Luke, is not much smaller than the blackbird, but Luke's feet have spent their days holding on to specially manufactured perches designed for comfort. The blackbird's feet have developed in the wild, its claws accustomed to holding on for dear life during storms and wind, clawing at neighborhood cats and scratching for food. This little bird's toes hurt when it grabbed on; not enough to really cause damage, but the strength was a surprise.
I kept my other fingers cupped around the bird, just in case it lost its balance. It 'clucked' a few times as I moved it to a lawn chair nearby, gently setting it down in the seat. As I pulled my hands away, the blackbird decided not to release his right claw. Exclaiming, "hey, let go!" wasn't successful. As I've done with Luke in similar situations, I tapped on the blackbird's knuckles lightly -- and, just as Luke does, it let go.
The bird puffed up its feathers, held its wings away from its body, and closed its eyes. I went back over to the pool, and helped dump the water out. We left about an inch in the bottom, enough to keep the pool from blowing away but we figured it was shallow enough to prevent a drowning.
The blackbird did not seem well enough yet to defend itself, so I picked up the chair. The bird opened its eyes suddently, quite surprised at the movement, but it did not try to fly or fight. I carried the chair up to the deck, and set it on top of our picnic table. Our neighborhood cats have been known to rummage through our garbage, but we figured this was good enough to give the blackbird enough time to dry off and rest.
Sure enough, when we returned from the restaurant, the blackbird was gone. There was no evidence of struggle or foul play; a little spot of poop was a sign of 'lightening the load' before takeoff, so I was happily satisfied that I saved the bird's life.
Later that night, I commented to D that I'd never touched a truly wild animal like that -- dead ones, or baby birds that had fallen out of the nest, but never a healthy one. I mused that maybe, someday, the blackbird will be in our back yard and recognize me.
"Yeah, and then all its friends will atack you for leaving a dangerous pool in the back yard."
I suppose so; the rules of the wild are a bit different than our own, but I at least know I helped a bird in need, and that should account for something in a karmic way.