Mockingbird Rescue

The least movement is of importance to all nature. The entire ocean is affected by a pebble.
Blaise Pascal

I was unloading the empties at H2O to Go today and noticed a splatter of bird poop on our car. Instead of my usual annoyance, I felt compassionate tolerance. Instead of being grossed out, I saw the poop as “healthy” (i.e., two colors, not greenish).

Overnight, I’ve learned a lot about birds.

I’m typing in our living room. Marcus is on the carpet in front of me, Gracie’s curled up in a kitty donut on the dining room counter. George is exploring out back, and Inca’s sleeping in her pyramid bed upstairs. I hear a chain saw outside, or maybe it’s a weed eater. Other than that, the winds that blew in our temporary house guest have mellowed, even retreated, and the birds are surprisingly silent.

That is, except for one.

She trustingly chirps whenever she wants to eat, which is about every 20-45 minutes. Last night, Cindi Valencia and Cheryl Grackin, wildlife rehab volunteers, walked me through the steps of caring for a wild bird, until the Wildlife Care Association (WCA) opened in the morning.

I set him up in the downstairs bathroom. Our nestling mockingbird readily accepted food and water, then napped. Later in the evening, I thought her breathing seemed labored. Of more concern, his body felt cool (birds have high body temperatures). Misunderstanding a direction, I had aspirated the nestling (often fatal). Aspiration is when food or water goes down the bird’s trachea into its lungs, something Cheryl kindly reassured me that even trained volunteers can’t always avoid.