Without hesitation, I scooped him up into the safety of my hands. Certainly still a baby, he had soft gray and brown downy feathers. Upon closer inspection it was clear why this baby appeared to have been abandoned or had fallen out of his nest: His left wing was badly injured. Having little to no experience with birds, I called a local wild bird rehabilitation center. They were an organization I knew and trusted. The first Mother's Day following my mom's terminal diagnosis she asked in lieu of buying her a gift to donate to one of her animal charities. Knowing my mom's deep affection for birds, particularly hummingbirds, I had selected this local group.
They confirmed for me on the phone that most likely the bird, who was probably born in late July, was being forced to become independent by his frustrated parents. The dependency on parents is very short for wild Cardinals--often being forced out of the nest as young as 3 weeks old. The harsh reality was that the parents were probably tired of caring for him and despite his health, or actually because of it, over time they would abandon him completely.
Not fully aware of the extent of his injuries and hoping that she was wrong and perhaps he had fallen out of his nest and his parents might still be looking for him, I conclude that he should stay in our yard to see if his parents would come. Under my watchful eye, I hoped he would improve and I would not need to bring him to the center. Our next door neighbors became aware of the situation and the teenage daughter Kate helped me prepare a small box to serve as his nest.
While I really didn't know much about birds or what was involved in caring or rehabilitating them, I did know that this little bird was going to be my answer to prayer. Just 11 days earlier, we had to put our dog Boo to sleep after a lengthy illness and my own selfish attempt to keep him with us. With the death of Boo, we were pet-less. Our two cats had passed away in the previous two years and I found myself without a pet for the first time in my life. Ever. The silence in the house without Boo was deafening. Not that my sweet old dog was loud; to the contrary he was just an old dog who did little else than sleep--he certainly wasn't capable of running and playing like in his golden days. But he was still my faithful little companion for 14 years--before husband and children--my little guy, and my life was a little too quiet now.
Having this bird to care for filled that void. I diligently fed him water from an eye dropper and fed him seeds and fruit, while Kate collected insects to supplement his diet. I nursed his wing, hoping that while he may never use it, the wing would heal and he could live a quiet life. During the day we kept him outside, where his parents did in deed come back to sit with him and feed him. Yes, they found him and when we were not outside with him, we saw his parents taking the time to care for him. At night we brought him indoors. Coyotes, deer -- even stray dogs and cats-- were a threat in the night. He certainly wasn't able to defend himself and did not want to make him easy prey.
So this schedule continued for a few days. The kids enjoyed holding the baby bird and caring for him the best we knew how. The parents were on-looking in a nearby tree, never too far from where their baby was. But, alas, he wasn't healing and I knew that my feeble attempts to take care of him wasn't cutting it.
Perhaps I already knew it in my heart, but when Carol looked at him from Wild Bird Rehab she said that his injuries were too great. In my ignorance, I did not notice that under the soft belly and downy feathers laid his intestines partially outside his body. There was no way to save him. We were doing all the right things for him and he seemed to not be experiencing discomfort, but he couldn't recover from this. Taking in a deep breath and sighing heavily, this was almost too much for me to hear. I had lost all three of my pets--and my mom-- over the previous 2 years. Could I at least take him home and care for him until he dies naturally, I wondered aloud. To my utter shock and disgust, I heard the words "No". Wild birds are federally protected. Caring for him in a home-care situation was against the law. She could not let me leave with him. While I totally understood the precarious situation she was in, I was at a loss. Really, I thought to myself. I understood the nature of the law -- to prevent people from taking in wild birds and domesticating them, interrupting the nature of the life-cycle. But this was extenuating circumstances. Surely there was a loop hole. To my frustration, I left with my empty homemade nest and two children who believed that he was going to be treated and released. They didn't need to know the truth. They saw their mom doing the right thing and I was going to give them the happy ending.
At the end of that day knowing that I had unintentionally sent him to his demise, I had the peace in my heart that my intentions were pure and my motives honest. I took the time to care for the least of God's creatures. In the end I had only bought him a few days time--or maybe I had shortened what time he would have had if we had not intervened, but this experience had taught me that as much as it hurt losing one pet after another -- and having to say goodbye to a mom I thought I'd have another 20 years with -- I could love again. Perhaps the baby Cardinal was the just the little soft whisper I needed to hear from God to embrace the idea of another family pet.
Enter Twinkle, our cockatiel. But that story, my friends, will wait for another day.
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