Rachel and I were taking the dog out for a quick walk to go potty, as we do many times throughout the day when Rachel nearly stepped on something that caught her by surprise. Her first response was, "Oh no- a baby bird," insinuating that the bird she discovered was killed by either the fall or from laying out on the concrete for as long as he had. With us as always, was a bag destined to pick up after the dog as he was out to do his business. She equipped the bag as a glove and gently picked the bird up hoping to bury him and at the very least get the poor thing off of the concrete before somebody really did step on it.
What happened next was quite surprising- somehow, the little guy was still alive, but just barely. She cradled him in her hand until we got inside where we promptly made a makeshift nest out of towels and a heating pad. He was very cold to the touch and we both knew this was no good for such a young bird. With no feathers to speak of and being mostly translucent, we guessed he was less than a week old. After we bundled him up we went in search of his nest of origin so that we could replace him with his family. The whole notion of "don't put a baby bird back if you touch it with your hands" is a complete farce. There is no truth in the fact that a bird will be shunned if the smell of humans is present. A bird will take care of it no matter. Unfortunately, we never did find a nest in any of the trees near where we found him. It was, apparently, up to us. We didn't, however, expect him to live out the night, let alone long enough for us to worry about caring for him.
Much to our surprise, by the end of the night, only six hours after rescuing him, he was showing signs of regained strength and was asking to be fed. Tiny bits of bread soaked in water was all that we dared feed him before doing a little homework and understanding what was best to give him regularly. His strength grew and before we went to sleep that first night, the little bird was chirping.
By the next day, he was alert, chirping loudly for food and craning his neck high above his body. He was still not strong enough to hold his own body but he was definitely not on death's door. Rachel and I decided he just might make it. We concocted a baby bird food out of dry dog food soaked in water mixed with a little bit of strawberry. This is, from what we've read, a good mix of protein and fruits to supply mostly what a baby bird needs. He ate this mixture regularly all throughout the day nearly every 30 minutes from a toothpick. Rachel thought it would be a good idea to get him a surrogate mother figure to cuddle with- we found a tiny stuffed tiger at the dollar store and it seemed to do the job quite nicely. He would often cuddle up next to it or even under it and sleep.
As the days went on, we decided to name him Eep for the wonderful eeping noise he would often make when he would hear one of us talking or moving around the apartment. He grew in strength and actually was able to hold himself up after learning to spread his legs really wide and rock back on his butt. It was quite extraordinary to see how fast these creatures grow. When we found him, he was nothing but skin and by day six he had sprouted spikes which contained the beginnings of feathers on the ends. He was going strong, chirping loudly, spreading his wings and even strong enough to hold on to the toothpick when we tried to feed him. Things were looking great.
This morning, however, Rachel woke to find Eep very silent, cold and hardly moving. By 8 o'clock, Eep had passed away. Both of us were quite devastated and arguably, I took it harder than Rachel. She came into the bedroom this morning to report his condition to me and I arrogantly thought he would be fine and did not wake up to check on him myself. I find myself believing that had I woken up and taken the time to cradle the little guy in my hands I could have warmed him and once again sprout life back in him. Of course, many people have tried to reassure us that usually baby birds don't make it, the rate of survival outside of the nest is quite low- even in professional care. The guilt still weighs heavy, even with the knowledge of these terrible statistics and I cannot escape the fact that my laziness and arrogance caused an innocent little bird to die cold and alone inside a shoe box.
Eep is buried in our flower box under a memorial layer of river rock. Rachel wrote on one of these rocks forming a gravestone that says "Here rests Eep... a good little bird." Maybe it's not my fault, maybe we did the best that we could, but in the end, when someone or something leaves us, we will always be left with our doubts and regrets first and foremost. For a long time it's hard not to forget what you could have done differently to make the end best for everyone and although Eep was a small thing, that I knew for a small time, he had a large impact on me. So in some way, I hope this lets me find peace with my regrets- I'm sorry for not being there in the end; I'm sorry for not holding him, even if there was nothing I could have done. I will miss him. Goodbye little birdy- rest peacefully.
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