Fiction author Robin Brande talks about writing, reading, and other vital matters

Our intentions were pure.

Two days ago, all was peace and bliss within the bird community in our back yard. I would sit out there every now and then and watch the mockingbird parents flit in and out of the thick jasmine climbing up our porch, and I could hear the baby birds squealing constantly for more food. So sweet. When the parents were both away I even sneaked a peek at the little guys. Cute!

Then it all fell apart.

Yesterday morning one of the little guys was hopping around on our porch. Not a great situation when you have a curious Labrador. Who’s been taught to retrieve birds.

So my husband and I nervously assessed the situation, trying to decide whether to put the bird back in his nest. By the time we decided yes, we should, we couldn’t find the little guy. He’d gone undercover in some of our bushes. So then all day I kept going outside to see if I could find him, to save him, and I could hear both him and his brother chirping for food, and the parents kept swooping into the jasmine to feed the one still in the nest, but I had no idea whether they could get food to the one on the ground.

By evening I’d sort of reconciled myself to the fact that I couldn’t do anything for this bird family, but then a break: Bear and I came back from our walk, and as he sprinted for his water dish in the dog yard, suddenly he whirled around to check something out.

I knew immediately what it was, so I collared Bear and pushed him into the house and went back to see my little guy. So cute! And so out in the open. This would not do.

My husband and I debated once again what to do. And I found this, which only raised more questions: Did our guy have all his feathers yet? Did he qualify for re-nestment, or should we just leave him alone?

We stared at him for a while, then decided he was still pretty bald. So my husband cupped him in his hands and carried the baby back to the nest.

Whereupon the parents went NUTS. Screeching and diving at our heads while my husband shouted, “I’m your friend! It’s okay! I’m helping!”

Meanwhile the baby bird was screaming for his life, which only made the parents even more psycho, and the nest wasn’t easy to get to, and it’s hard to think or move with wings flapping around your head, but my husband persevered and finally got the little guy back in the nest.

For one second.

Then the bird falls back out.

Dislodging his little brother along the way.

So now we have two flightless birds hopping around on our porch, and now the parents are screaming, “You DUMB-****!! We told you! Can’t you stupid humans keep your smelly stinky human hands out of this? Now look at what you’ve done! AAARRRRGGG!!! CHIIIIRRRRP!!”

The parents were going fully Hitchcock on us, so we had to race back into the house or risk eyeball-skewering or hair-pulling or whatever can of whupass they were going to open on us. Then I stood at the window for about fifteen minutes just watching those poor little babies hop around, flapping their useless wings, crying for their parents.

We were such complete and utter failures.

And because there really was nothing more that we could do, my husband convinced me it was time for dinner.

Which was?

Dove.

As in doves that my husband had shot out of the sky and Bear had retrieved.

But as my husband pointed out while he was eating (and I was not), “These weren’t OUR doves. It’s not like OUR mockingbirds.”

Uh-huh. So maybe it’s safe for me to have a little pet deer after all.

Technorati Tags: Baby Birds, Bird Falling Out of Nest, Attack of the Mockingbird Parents Who Were Right All Along

Posted on Saturday, June 2nd, 2007 at 5:02 am under Life . Subscribe to responses: RSS 2.0 Comment Feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.