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Starlings attacked. The adult robins defended their nest. Pecking and
diving, trying to divert the intruders from their home, the parents spread
their beaks wide and did their best to look fearsome and intimidating. But
the starlings, predators adept at getting what they want, persisted.
It was the father robin that accidentally pushed the fledgling out of the
nest. One minute he was defending the nest, the next minute, he was hovering
over his child, flying air cover over the vulnerable body of flesh and
meager tufts of downy feathers.
The starlings ceased their attack as quickly as they had begun. Had they
wanted the nest? Were they just having fun?
The baby robin landed at the base of the ornamental evergreen, winded by its
bounce from twig to twig and its ungraceful plop onto the packed earth. A
few more inches and it would have landed on the cement sidewalk.
Fortunately neither the family dog nor the neighbor's cat was outside. The
robin parents, caught between bringing attention to their defenseless
offspring and trying to protect it, flew and dived and called encouragement.
Finally the fat-bellied baby struggled to its feet and waddled one painful
step at a time away from where it landed. But it had headed into the open.
Danger. It laid still, only its sides moving in and out with its labored
breathing.
The parents took turns feeding their baby and calling encouragement. They
dove and perched close on low branches, and walked nearby in the grass. All
the time keeping vigil, placing their bodies in harm's way. They entered the
danger zone close to the earth where predators waited, hoping they'd let
down their guard and become an easy meal.
The human in the house brought the dog out and the parents panicked. They
called and squawked, dove at the dog's head and then tried to lead the pair
away from their exposed baby. The dog's nose knew and she headed directly
toward a tasty morsel. But the human spoke and the dog obeyed. She sniffed
the bird, but did it no harm, except maybe to give it a good scare with that
cold nose on its bare skin.
The human knelt, but didn't touch it. She saw the remnants of a worm nearby
and evidence of bowel movement, all signs that the baby was being fed. Her
meager experience with birds was that they would be abandoned by their own
kind if a human touched them and a human had a hard time raising a baby
bird. It was nearly impossible in her experience. She backed away, telling
herself that nature would have its way.
All night the baby lay on the ground. It's mother stood watch beside it,
spreading her wings to give it cover. The father hovered in a nearby tree,
watching from his vantage point for anything that would harm his family.
The vigil continued for three days. The parents took turns standing watch
and bringing food. They encouraged the tiny new life to move into the grass
and toward cover. One little faltering step at a time it would move. But
never got far from where it fell.
The human and dog checked on his progress every day. She would bend over the
baby; whisper words in a kind voice and then back away, hesitating. She
wanted to do more. She wanted to rescue it. But would the rescue save or
kill it? She feared she would kill it and she did nothing. When the sun
heated the day, the baby moved into the taller grass near the edge of the
sidewalk. By the third day its body was totally covered with downy feathers
and the wing tips were growing flight feathers.
But the weatherman predicted a drop in temperature and rain. Thunder and
lightning, torrential rain, temperatures dipping into the low 50s. All night
the parents hovered and worried. By morning the baby's breath was slower,
weaker. By evening it lay dead.
The parents brought worms, nudged the still body, flew to a safe perch and
watched. For two days they visited the little body. They continued to
protect it from predators, including the tiny ants that approached its body
even while it was still alive. They picked them away.
By the third day after its death, the parents did not return. The corpse lay
alone in the grass. Only the dog nosed it curiously and the human shooed her
away.
She came with a shovel and an old abandoned nest. Maybe she should have
tried shoveling the baby into the nest days ago. But now, she took the
lifeless form to the back of the property and dug a hole, a deep hole among
the daffodils and laid the little one to rest.
She buried too many this past year.
As she marked the grave with a rock three times the size of the bird, she
cried.
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