A baby bird

This past summer I had the experience of one of my son’s twice finding a little sparrow needing help.?The first came after a heavy downpour and one of our cats coming into the house with a nearly adult bird in its mouth.?It seemed like it wouldn’t make it and we were literally on the point of leaving to go see my wife’s family when it arrived.?Hastily we packed it in a box and set out.?I didn’t expect it to survive for long and dreaded that feeling of loss that death must bring my two little sons.?

Perhaps I should have been stricter with the boys, because in peeking into the box the little thing managed to escape and found itself under my seat in the car.?Being followed by a friend as we sped down the highway, I was less than happy and to make things more interesting we faced an incredibly heavy downpour that made visibility treacherous and required slowing down and every driver flashing their hazards.?

Reaching under the seat and having my two little ones feet over head doing the same in the back it was at about this point that I saw a driver who had hit the median in the center lane just behind his car waving everyone around.?It was also at this moment that I felt something flapping furiously on my left foot and then the bird came darting up toward the windshield.?Somehow we managed to get it back in the box. Now they were without any exception allowed to peek at it.?Safely arrived and dry the bird showed its pluck and we safely released it.?A happy ending.

A few days after arriving home from something like a short vacation what would my same tender son find but another sparrow- this one a mere fledgling.?Going to get our every other day COVID test we managed to borrow a box from the package pick up and again took it along but this time for a more shorter trip before managing to make it home and inspect the tiny one.?Some quick research allowed as to how it might survive and be cared for and so another adventure with a little bird began.?I bet my older son about how unlikely the chances of us finding another bird would be and I again prepared for the worst- the shock to my two sons of seeing this poor thing expire while under their care and protection.

But it didn’t. ?Instead it would eat the crickets we had for our other animal menagerie under home care before they could be safely returned to normal care at school.?My wife always in love with the cute and needy joined the vigilant feeding and support of our tiny waif.?He, she, it would sit in their hand or be perched on their bed emitting its bright chirps when ready for more crickets of cat food depositing its refuse happily on or beside them.?For more than a week this went on and I began to hope it was going to be alright; to imagine a little bird who might be free and yet might choose to remain as it had found a home and family.

One night I saw the little bird barely escaping our monster cat- herself a pregnant stray and still something wild.?I just managed to save it and told the boys they were lucky.?Certainly they understood the danger.?They seemed to get the point and would remain in their room with the door closed like never before.?My youngest took the bird in the way only a young child can who finds something that needs and adores him as much as he loved and adored it.

And then it happened.?The monster had it and throwing beds and couches aside to try and save it, we finally gained the now lifeless body. I last saw it finally in my little boy’s hands.?If you are a parent, you know that sound and most certainly would do anything to keep it from them- pure pain, pure loss, a heart breaking and being dashed- my youngest head in his hands and wailing/ screaming. ?I struggling with other worries and troubles felt it too.?I swore and stupidly told them the obvious, “you had to know it was life and death.” ?Someone had left the door open and the monster had acted on her nature.?

I don’t lose my temper much these days- hadn't really for years, but I certainly did that night.?I told my wife to get rid of the cats as if they or she was to blame.?I too have loved the little thing; would sometimes let it rest on my hand or arm- would collect some bug or offer it a cricket.?I was attached and hopeful and completely smitten.?Now, I too was crestfallen and angry mostly with myself- it had come into my house and I had let this happen.?Drinking tea I took the mug and smashed it against the floor as if that might do any good.?

My oldest son who can be an ass at times like his father came and without saying anything swept up the shards that littered the hard floor.?My wife said nothing to me, and I spent the night restless and miserable on the couch.?In the morning as the sun was rising, I crept to bed and lay beside her extending my hand to show I was not a threat and to know we were OK in spirit.?Later I talked to my sons; I don’t remember when- to say I was sorry and to help lift their pain.?

Perhaps just having the small innocent creature in the same house with the monster cat was itself the mistake.?Perhaps it was expecting too much from such young boys.?Perhaps I should have laid down a long set of rules and procedures- that was certainly my thinking and action with respect to other potential more serious dangers that face the young. I wanted this feeling to remain sharp in my thought so I could use it to protect and explain what might seem like a laundry list of dont's and be carefuls to a bunch of busy or bored people.?I cannot say this time there was a happy ending; no one but my family will ever know or care about what happened and in one way they have already moved on. My same animal rescuer has since brought home a blind and dying turtle- my wife has bought it medicine and an advanced turtle condo with running water and lights and turtle pellets. ?Last night she was coaxing it to eat the tiny shrimp she puts into Wonton soup.?

I love them for what they are willing to suffer and their desire to save and help the weak with no real thought to the costs or difficulties.?Sometimes, I swear I still hear a bright chirping and still my heart aches. Perhaps this is where ghosts come from; we are haunted by our pain, loss or guilt and unable to let go we conflate experience with our own memory of someone we loved. My middle son will not get to read this until much later as I cannot stand the sight of his tears.