A little birdie told me...

To definitely watch my damned step.

I do believe I forgot to blog about the Baby Robin Fiasco. As summer has competely wrapped us up in all kinds of fun activities, I've been neglecting this here blog. This shall be rectified!

One day about a month ago, for some reason I can't remember, Vin & I didn't carpool to work. He left the house one Friday morning, and I followed shortly after. I locked the door, stepped through our jungle of spider-plant streamers and to the car in the driveway where I noticed the pathetic, purple heap of a baby bird.

It was a cooler summer morning (before hell hath arrived) and by its color and the presence of a few investigating scout ants, I figured it dead. I was plunged into the memories of spring time at the house my sister and I grew up at. Every year a sparrow nested in the eves above out back patio and every year she'd shove out one or two of her offspring to die in the heat baking on the concrete slab. One year, my sister tried like hell to save one. I remember we named it Jelly Bean because of its distended belly. It didn't live.

This sad, wrinkled, featherless chick crumpled on our drive brought a sadness to me at the thought it never had a chance. I looked up, wondering how the hell it got there as there were no branches from our severely trimmed trees to hold a nest.

Cats. Our neighborhood is thick with them. And not because we don't spay or neuter them. Quite the contrary. Our neighborhood seems to be the prime dropping off point for families unable to care for their pets as homes are foreclosed upon. AND IF I EVER CATCH YOU DOING IT SO HELP ME. In fact earlier that week we discovered a litter of 3 - 4 month old kitties looking for food. Okay, moving on.

I was already running late for work and couldn't bear letting this tiny body be covered with ants or be ripped to shreds by one of those cats. THAT'S WHEN IT MOVED. Yes, the baby bird moved. Gasping, I shouted out loud, "You're alive!" And I didn't even care if my neighbors thought I was crazy(ier). I bolted into the house, grabbed a paper towel, raced out and gingerly picked up the cold little bird that twitched. Feeling it wasn't long for this world, I resolved to the fact that I could at least bring a few hours of comfort before it passed.

I brushed off the ants and inspected it noting two surface puncture wounds. One under the left wing, and one tiny prick on the head. Nothing too deadly. But if it had indeed been a cat that caused the injuries, I knew the bacteria in their mouths is fatal to baby chicks. It was limp and cold and I warmed in it my hands as I made a make-shift incubator in the garage out of an insulated cooler, towels and a flash light. Sighing, I left for work, late knowing that if I came back in the afternoon to check on it, it'd most likely be dead. But at least I gave it a few moments of warmth and peace.

Once at work, I studiously researched baby chicks to see if I could identify the bird. Starling? Robin? They're all so ugly it's hard to tell! I looked up diets, half-remembering the concoction my sister made for the sparrow abandoned at our house so many years ago. Discovering that once the meal was made, one would have to feed a baby chick EVERY TWENTY MINUTES, I realized how daunting it would to care for this life if it survived these few hours.

So I called my neighbor and friend, Cheryl. You know, the one who I rescued the turkey chicks with in the middle of a busy highway? Yeah, that crazy friend. I told her what I found, what needed to be done to sustain it, and if she or her daughter who was on summer vacation could check in on it to see if it was doing okay. She called me a few minutes later so excited because the bird was moving around, pink in color and gaping for food. Yay! I was worried about its dehydration, and it going into shock, so first thing was first...give it what it wanted.

After we made a mad dash around to give the bird a little food and water (let me note, because of having birds and being familiar with their anatomy, I knew how to feed the chick. Someone unfamiliar with avians should NOT attempt to feed them, but keep them warm and call their local wildlife rescue center), it was chirping, very active, unhappy at being handled and only wanted to snuggle in its warm cocoon we had made for it. My neighbor said we should do the sane thing, and find our wildlife rescue center to take in the bird. She was right. However, our wildlife rescue center doesn't allow you to talk to a live person and only provides direction to drop off an animal at its office. You can, however, call a number of volunteers to help you if you have any questions. Which I did.

I have never been so verbally abused.

The conversation went a little something like this:

Crochety Volunteer Lady: Hello?

Me: Hi, I have a question. I found this baby bird in my driveway and have warmed it back to life. I've been trying to get a hold of the local wildlife rescue. Meanwhile, I've been giving it electrolyte water and a protein meal--

Crochety Volunteer Lady: STOP WHAT YOU'RE DOING RIGHT NOW!

Me, startled: What, excuse me?

Crochety Volunteer Lady, thorugh gritted dentures: You are going to kill it! Birds have vents under their tongues and you can drown them.

Me: Ma'am, I know. I've had birds and I know how they drink...

Crochety Volunteer Lady, snapping: Not like THESE you don't! You stop what you're doing right now and get that bird to the wildlife center.

Me, trying to hold my composure: Ma'am, that is why I called. How the hell do I get a hold of them?

Crochety Volunteer Lady: You don't. You drop it off there.

Me:...

Crochety Volunteer Lady: Bye. *click*

Wench! So, I had to go back to work. My neighbor was able to drop the bird off, and while I was on the phone with her providing directions on how to get the wildlife centery, the baby bird was screaming its head off for food.

Ultimately, the wonderful gal at the wildlife rescue took in the robin, said he looked like he was in good condition and would be joining 200 other birds awaiting rehabilitation. She put him in an incubator, got him set up with antibiotics for his wounds and fed him to hydrate him.

The bird is doing fine.

Oh, and it was a robin. I see robins jumping around in our yard hunting for food and I wonder which one of them is the parent to the one we rescued.