April IS the Cruellest Month....

Late yesterday afternoon, while cleaning up the yard (it's been very windy here and the recycling was blowing about...), I heard a very persistent chirping near the fence that separates our yard from our neighbor's. There were quite a few birds--sparrows, mostly--hopping about in his yard and I wondered who/what was causing the ruckus. I was shocked to discover a blind, featherless baby bird scrambling in some old dry leaves in a flower bed, beak to the sky and calling loudly. I looked about for a nest from which the bird could have fallen, but there were no trees overhead. The closest bush is a rose on my side of the fence--no evidence of a nest there. There were some sparrows hopping about nearby, so I retreated, hoping that the parents were close by.

About 20 or 30 minutes later, I checked again, but the bird was still alone, flapping about with its naked little wings and trying to walk, but quieter. I looked for evidence of a nest that had blown onto the ground, but saw nothing. By then, all my instincts were telling me that I should do something...but my head was telling me that there was truly little I could do. I had nothing to feed this baby. I doubted that any of the wildlife rescue places in the area would want to care for this little one; this time of year they are probably inundated with baby birds rescued by well-intentioned animal lovers like me. I told myself that if I hadn't gone to investigate, I would never have known about this little bird. I told myself that this happens all the time, everywhere, it is just part of life.

My neighbor came home while I was looking over the fence, so I pointed out the bird to him. "That's too bad," he said. He definitely didn't feel the urgency I felt in the situation, but strangely enough, this disconnectedness was slightly soothing to me. I decided I wouldn't look again--just let Nature take its course.

But, of course, I thought about the little bird off and on into the evening. I knew it was easy prey for one of the many cats that prowl our neighborhood. I knew it was likely to be a cold night. I searched the Internet for info about caring for wild baby birds. Although most sites recommended not interfering with fledglings (baby birds with feathers), they also said that you should put the orphaned nestlings (no feathers) in a small container lined with grass or soft material, keep them warm under a lamp, and feed them baby bird food every 20 minutes from dawn till dusk. But one site said that you really shouldn't do anything at all. That Nature was cruel, but perfect. This made me feel better about my lack of action, but as I got my baby daughter ready for bed, I kept thinking things like "This is a little baby, like mine", "This baby is all alone", and "I would want someone to care for my baby if she was lost". I knew I couldn't do anything to save or raise this bird, but I thought I could make it comfortable in its last moments. So as soon as Gillian was in bed, I went out in the growing darkness to gather the little bird--and it was gone. I felt a bit let down after resolving to do something after all. But mostly I felt relieved. I know it didn't have a happy ending--probably succumbed to hunger/exposure or was discovered by a cat, but perhaps it was a better ending than if I had "rescued" it and stressed it with my rough attempts at bird mothering.

It is a hard thing to accept, that we humans don't always know or do best, no matter how good our intentions may be. When I reflect on the regrettable things I've done in my life, the times I tried to "help" animals rise right to the top of the list. Needless to say, my efforts did not end well for the animals in question. I am haunted by the consequences of some of my attempts to rescue creatures that were probably just fine before I interfered. I think I'm finally learning my lesson.

Now I am wondering how I will teach my daughter to be compassionate and caring for all beings and at the same time, to recognize that nothing and no one can truly be saved from death--and that perhaps death isn't so bad after all. I'm still struggling with this one myself.