There was an injured bird in our yard yesterday morning, a Starling I believe. It took every bone and breath in Boolie's body to deny her natural instincts and to listen to me when I told her to stay down. The little hopper had an obvious injured wing but was quite persistent in proving to me it could hop around fine. Across the yard and into the ivy covered garden. It wasn't as though he was running from me; as when resting he allowed me to get incredibly close, to stroke his little head, and whisper sweet nothings in an attempt to calm his rapid beating heart.
Once in the ivy I was relieved to see his auxiliary coming to check in on him. Tweets and chirps, a plenty. At dusk I went to check on him and he had made it out of the ivy and was resting on the lawn. It took everything within me to not try to get him and somehow nurse him back to health. But the ruffled feathers on his head and his pure determination, combined with J's words to let him be, let me let him be. This morning with fears of venturing out and finding his restless body I found nothing. And either did Boolie after carefully gently investigating. I do hope he found his way home.
Amongst "operation bird" my Little Bird was very sweet. Interested? Yes. But cautious and caring too. Asking every couple minutes about the fluttering thing in the bush. And peering over my shoulder at him, with one had for safety on my shoulder.
No comments:
Post a Comment