The Baby Robin Quandry

Our dining table is situated near a patio door that gives us a great view of the back yard and all that lies beyond. As we were eating our Sunday afternoon meal, we were interested to see that a baby robin was running back and forth on the top step just beyond the windows. His cries seemed to tell us that he was a fledgling too soon out of the nest. His baby markings were bright and he appeared to be big enough to be on his own; when he disappeared after a while, we figured that he had found a way to leave and get back to his proper environment.

However, the next morning when I went outside to plant some of the planters on the patio, what did I discover, but the little bird carefully perched on the edge of a pot saucer atop a planter waiting for posies, looking just a little miserable, with colors not quite so bright and eyes a little dull. I thought he was ready to die, so I found Ron and asked him to take care of it. And so he did. Ron, being true to himself, went uptown (5 minutes) to Bob's Mart, which carries everything from cameras, clocks, Boy Scout paraphernalia, kitchen appliances, plumbing supplies, electrical supplies, sewing supplies, gardening supplies, etc. all in one small store, (put in a new watch battery for the cost of the battery), bought a container of worms (night crawlers - fish bait). Now came the fun part. When he got home, the little bird who had looked like it was ready to expire, had disappeared. First job, to find him. He had made it quite a distance - around the corner of the house on the north side, and, plop, into a window well. Ron found a cardboard box of medium size, and proceeded to lower himself into the window well, pick up the bird, place it in the box, and then levitate himself out. The little fellow wasn't too happy about his new home,, and he used up excess energy trying to climb the sides. Now came the challenging part - how to feed the worms to the obviously starving baby robin. Ron tried the fingers technique, holding the giant night crawler between the index finger and the thumb. The beak hopefully opened wide, obliterating any sight of the bird's head and neck, but the worm decided to wriggle itself across the beak, resulting in a failed attempt. Not to be outdone, Ron then decided to break the worm up in smaller pieces (no time for empathy for night crawlers when a baby bird is starving). He managed to get one tiny piece down the hatch, but couldn't hang onto the other pieces long enough. I conceived the idea of using a pair of long tweezers, so I ran up to the sewing room to retrieve my long tweezers, and, viola, it semi worked. Worms are really squirmy, and it is a delicate procedure to hold the worm securely in the tweezers without either mashing it completely and letting the leftovers fall to the ground, or not holding it securely enough and losing it. Somehow, the baby got the idea, and Ron managed to work down about 2/3 of a long night crawler. Then, we looked at each other and decided this was enough nonsense, and laid the box on it's side. By now, we were noticing a male and a female robin beginning to hover around anxiously with worms in beak, making funny little cries. (Where were they when this poor thing obviously fell out of the nest? Off playing around?) So, we backed completely off, waiting for further developments, and thinking this would be taken care of.

NOT SO! I waited a reasonable amount of time, and then went out to the patio again, where, behold, the pestilent nuisance was back - perching on his original perch on the pot saucer that was resting on top of an unplanted pot. Gritting my teeth, I tried to think of a solution. Aha, if the night crawlers were too big, go into the garden, dig up a few of the regular earthly inhabitants, which are much smaller in circumfrence, as well as length, and try the tweezer method to get them down the hatch. After a frustrating few minutes of non-coordination between the opening and closing of the beak, I managed to get half a worm down him. This was too much. Again, I went to find where Ron was toiling, reported my failure, and went to work some place else. Frustration was compete. After a while, we were both in the house, and lo and behold, the bird was gone. Ron said that he threw it out into the middle of the lawn. We watched it as it ran through the grass, flapped his wings a few times, and ran some more. We'd like to think that maybe he had a little sustenance, and so managed to work up enough steam to fly? Maybe his lost parents found him? We do not know the end of the saga, but the lawn got mowed on Tuesday afternoon, and there are no little bird bodies to be found, so we want to hope that he endured his tribulations, and is finding shelter somewhere in all of the trees that surround our home. Do you suppose? Dream on. (By the way, this was only funny in retrospect - we should have gone to the internet and discovered how one treats lost baby birds - I just know this, that he didn't have the bird instinct to find his mother like the little bird in the beloved children's book, "Are You My Mother?")

Is there a moral to this story? Perhaps. Sometimes our fledglings leave the nest too soon and do not have all of the survival methods they need to thrive in this difficult world. Sometimes when sustenance of all kinds is offered them, they can't accept it, and wish to go their own way. Sometimes, they end up in places that are not the best environment for their growth and development, and do not prosper as we would wish. Sometimes the mothers and fathers hover in the background, wishing to aid the offspring, and are unsuccessful at making contact. Somehow, I think that there is much to be learned from this little saga - and we really don't know the end, just as we don't know the end of the story our children and grandchildren will write. Hope springs eternal, and we always hope for the best!