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.

That took care of practical support. Homeopathically, I administered first-aid remedies between 6 p.m.and midnight. I gave Aconite for shock and fright; Arnica for shock and a possible sprained toe; Antimonium tartaricum as its breathing turned into a wheeze; and, Phosphorus because I wasn’t satisfied with Ant-t. Before bed, I changed the remedy to Ferrum phosphoricum (Tilly’s remedy), for pneumonia and rattling bronchitis in children—even though it was a bird, and even though the “pneumonia” had been mechanically induced.

To my surprise, at 3:00 a.m. the bird was still alive. It’s breathing was more labored, though, and it was lethargic and refused to eat. I continued to watch for homeopathic symptoms. When I noticed it wheezed only when it breathed in, I went back to my books, changed its remedy to Kali carbonicum, and, on a wing and a prayer, went to bed.

Early this morning, this brave little mockingbird not only greeted me with better vitality, but with an open, hungry mouth. My original plan had been to drop her off at WCA when they opened at 10:00, where I thought he would receive better care. That’s no longer true. Also, Cindi and Cheryl assured me that I was doing everything they could.

My revised plan is to stabilize her with homeopathy—i.e., “undo” the aspiration—then turn her over to the care of WCA for the remainder of her rehab and, I hope, return to the wild blue yonder.

Healthy, this is what she’ll look like full-grown. Happy, this is how she’ll sound: Sounds of the Northern Mockingbird.

Our nestling brought to mind a lullaby I used to sing to Shirley as we rocked and nursed into the solitude of Colorado’s nights: The Mockingbird Song (just the first few lines).

This morning, I was prepared to bury a dead nestling mockingbird that I ambivalently interrupted yesterday’s run to rescue. In surviving to another day, she’s opened my heart, and renewed my hope.

Regardless of tomorrow, we’ve unalterably touched one another’s lives today.

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