Slim Randles' Home Country
Out of the nest, into the spout
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[July 24, 2010]
When we first noticed the baby sparrow
here at the house, it saddened us all. He had fallen from his nest
and was slowly walking around the front yard under the tree while
his mother and father had an absolute fit. |
We knew w e were looking at a dead baby bird, as
it was only a question of who does it, where it is done and how long
before it happens. Years of experience in these kinds of things have
taught us the finality of a baby bird falling out of a tree. Would
the end come from a cat, or from a raccoon wandering up from Lewis
Creek, or a snake? One of the problems with being a baby bird is
that almost everything with teeth wants to eat you, and if you can't
fly, there's not much you can do about it.We learned that picking
the baby up and putting him back in the nest wouldn't work, so we
were forced to just watch his timid movements around the yard and
whisper to him, "I'm sorry, pal."
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You might think that the older we get, the tougher our shells
become to these little natural tragedies, but it doesn't seem to
work that way. Maybe it's because we've now had children of our own,
and grandchildren, too. Maybe that's why it actually hurts more to
see a helpless baby bird today than when we were 11 and riding our
bikes on the river trails. Back then we were bulletproof, flexible
and immortal. But we learned things over the years. We saw people
our age die. We saw younger people die. We accumulated our own
little collection of personal tragedies.
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column] |
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Then the baby found the drain spout. Yep, that little rascal
hopped into the drain spout coming off the roof and had sense enough
to stay in there, coming to the edge of his "cave" only for meals
from his anxious mother.
A week later, I thought I recognized him sitting on a tree
branch, looking smug. He wasn't in the drain spout and I didn't see
any feathers around on the ground.
We live in an age of small miracles.
[Text from file received from Slim Randles]
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