We had known for weeks that a baby Cardinal was being tended in the French lilac bush outside our kitchen door. The comings and goings of mom and dad made it obvious to us something was happening inside. Apparently, we weren’t the only ones to notice.
It was a pretty exceptional day last Monday with the sun appearing for the first time in weeks, a strong breeze and temperature in the 70s. We were relaxing in the Adirondack chairs watching the Cardinals come and go, when Ted noticed a Blue Jay flitting about the area. No sooner was he telling me how Jays steal baby birds just as parents are off gathering food, when the Jay dive-bombed into the bush.
Ted leaped from his chair and was transported to the Jay’s entry point like a shot, hands clapping almost as loudly as his profanity.
"GET OUT OF THERE, YOU @#$%***!" he shouted and the Jay took off.
We peeked into the bush and the nest was empty. Our hearts stopped. Suddenly a weak and desperate, "Chirp, chirp," came from the opposite side.
The baby bird was hanging from a series of small branches like a frog spread-legged, legs thinner than toothpicks. His pathetic plea for help would do him no good since mom and dad were unlikely to lift him back to the nest. What to do?
My mind raced back to when I was a young girl, my sisters and I had found a baby Robin on the ground next to our garage. My mom called the Audubon Society and someone told her to leave the bird alone or the parents would stop feeding it because of the human scent. Instead, they suggested getting a long handled metal spoon to pick the baby up and put it under a bush for protection, maybe the parents would find it. Of course, the parents never came and the baby Robin didn’t live but part of the instructions just might work this time.
"Get the long-handled metal spoon, " I told Ted. "And, the one with holes in it to put over that to keep him from falling."
Ted being the lifeguard that he is, immediately saw the wisdom of the idea and signed on, producing the spoon set in what seemed like an instant. Meanwhile, the dogs were now nervously sniffing something at the base of the lilac bush.
No longer crucified in the upper branches, the baby Cardinal had fallen to the ground, a ball of feathers breathing heavily. Sweetly, it seemed our dogs were not on the hunt but merely inquisitive, eager for us to solve the dilemma.
I scooped up the little bird with the metal spoon. He, what made me think it was a boy I don’t know, had no feathers on his back and was so young his organs were still visible. I placed the spoon with holes over the top to provide a safe journey and placed the glob of feathers and beak, back in the nest. He sat weirdly askew but home again.
Mom and dad returned with more lunchtime fare, and the afternoon continued on without incident. We named him Buddy and still wonder why we think he’s a he and not a she.
This past Sunday, Buddy and his parents took off. A fitting occasion, since this week our youngest son started his first job after graduation from college a few weeks ago. We’re empty nesters once again as yet another charge of ours takes off on his own, becomes too busy to call, or come home for a visit.
