Early Wednesday morning we
found a male Common Blackbird laying on the lawn. Bird didn’t look too
bad. He was breathing, always a promising sign, and his eyes seemed attentive
but he was limp as a stunned lizard. Probably struck a window but have never
seen that befall a blackbird before. However, during the previous few days
we’d noticed 3 males in pursuit of one another. Perhaps in the fervour of
territory defence and acquisition this fellow had come to grief. Les petites
put him on an old towel in a carton, fetched a handful of moist compost full of
earthworms from the worm farm and placed it on a paper plate in the box
together with a small container of water and put him under the house where it
was cool, quiet and fairly dark. When they closed the trapdoor he’d be
safe from prowling Meow Meow terrorists.
“What if he’s not
better by tomorrow?” Elder Brat asked.
“We’ll take him
to the RSPCA maybe they can help or euthanize the poor guy” I said.
“Nooo, he’ll be
better tomorrow, you’ll see,” they said, eyes like saucers.
When they checked him
at 5:00 PM, he was standing up but the worms appeared untouched.
“He pecked my finger
when I tried to feed him a worm,” Junior reported, proffering the
allegedly assaulted digit for inspection.
“Bird’s on the
mend then,” I said.
At 8:00 AM yesterday the
veterinary brats looked in on their charge while I waited by the trapdoor and,
when they opened the box, like Jack, he attempted to jump out. I told them to
bring him into the disused aviary where it was shady and secure, and he could
trial his wings. When he did, he almost undid everything.
I noticed him hopping about
throughout the day looking alert and bright eyed if not bushy tailed, and when
we entered the aviary this morning, he burst into flight as we approached. He
shot past us and crashed into the wire at the other end falling to the ground.
Oh no! But in an instant he was up and off again. This time, however, he threw
out the air brakes, bounced gently off the mesh and tumbled to earth.
“Open the door and let
him loose,” I called.
Samantha threw the door wide
and we gently urged the bird towards it but he took wing, missed the opening
and hit the wire again.
“Get him out of here
before he kills himself,” Sam yelled.
With the alacrity of a
striking taipan Linda scooped up Blackie and chucked him out the door. He never
hit the ground, whizzed over a fence and across the neighbouring yard,
turned 90 degrees flying helter skelter over two more backyards and
appeared to be approaching mach one when we lost sight of him. We hope he
returned to a mate and a nest brimming with chicks, and they happy-ever-after
for many seasons raising copious young.
John K. Layton.
