A little baby bird...

When you are in elementary school, there’s a certain lecture you get. No not THAT one. It’s one about animals: how we should respect our local wildlife and how we are to leave animals in their habitat. No? Fine, I went to school in an area that still is home to panthers and alligators, which sometimes are sold as pets, get abandoned, and end up eating some poor kid that strayed too far from the back yard. Nature is to be admired and respected from afar.

Well, lo and behold, I still find nature all around me in the concrete and brick ways of Boston. From my first mice kill this past month to my first few weeks in my Warren dorm room in the discovery of “house centipedes.” Oh joy, everything I feared in the animal kingdom lives under my bed. And not in a cool Pixar way either.

But as hostile as I find myself against nature, the elements, and basically everything I am allergic to; there is something that still appeals to me about nature. Simpler, yet brutal; charming, yet harsh. The beauty can mean destruction, and no second chances when you are only delicately hovering above the bottom of the food chain.

Blame it on my maternal nature, but babies-from any animal-nearly always elicit the audible “aw” from me.

Baby birds are no exception, but what do you do when you have been taught to leave nature to nature? How about when that same nature is going to end the thing of your affectionate attention?

I'm loving the hair-I mean, feathers...

Walking down Bay State, I decided to appreciate nature the best way I know how: photography. Photographing flowers, beaten bricks on the street, ivy clinging to the doorways of houses; the usual photographic stock.

Almost home, my eyes wondered to a shady tree over looking the sidewalk. What had been a largely serene, quiet walk home was interrupted by the innocent chirping of a ball of puff wobbling on the mulch. A tiny baby bird, legs haphazardly supporting the fluffy feathered body, stared me down. No trust was in his dark eyes.

I closed in for a photograph; he lunged forward, not approving of my presence here. A tedious game of closing in and backing up ensued. Much to the delight of fellow pedestrians I believe, or to residents of the apartment complex I was photographing at. I danced back and forth from the sidewalk to the brushes of this man-made bird sanctuary, in order to please the subject of my study.

However this cute game between species came to halt when another bigger bird invaded the playground. I knew this was not a parental figure demanding the baby return home, but rather an invader that prompted the chick to lunge into the air, screeching its lungs empty for assistance. As I photographed, the larger bird drew closer. The chick screamed louder. Do I throw down my lens and intervene? Chuck my large purse at the intruder to teach it a lesson? Wait and see?

Intruder Alert!

My questions were answered by the roaring “Easy Rider” motorcycle that flew by the scene, effectively quieting the chick and scaring the trespasser away. A sigh of relief. Baby nature would not die at the claws of predatory nature, at least not in front of me and my lens.

I continue to photograph the chick, crawling on the ground to get better views and to calm to agitated baby. As I inched closer, I noticed a change in the young bird. Its chest heaved so dangerously, it threatened to knock the baby off balance. The eyes would close as if tears were to come pouring out, and it made a sharp breathing sound as if were in the midst of a crying fit. It was possibly one of the worst things an animal do, because it looked so human. Frightened, abandoned, and left to its own survival skills. I had no idea when it would end.

But it was going to have to soon. My legs had begun to cramp in my crouching pose, and I could no longer dedicate more than the hour I had spent photographing. It was time to leave, after one last photo, of course.

I got up from my false height, only to send the poor baby bird into hysterics. It fell over, took a few panicky breathes and bolted for the underbrush. I don’t know what was more humorous, either the way the bird tumbled over ferns larger than him or the fact that he was running in circles. I felt awful at the fact I was so amused at the bird’s flight instinct.

Just then, I got my first “What are you doing here?” from the apartment’s janitor, who had noticed I had been outside the property for sometime. I point out the source of the chirping in the form of a tumbling dust bunny. He told me I should probably get home soon, since it was about to rain and the bird’s mother should claim him soon enough. True, the skies had darkened over the course of the hour I spent, but I was not about to leave the chick I had been babysitting for all that time to drown.

When baby birds cry...

Then, I reasoned, I would just have to keep watching it.

I asked for the janitor for a box, then used it to capture my ward with the help of a book that was rolling around in my purse. Just as it had done with the unwelcomed stranger, it squeaked its utter fear from underneath the cover of my book at the bottom of the vegetable box.

Rushed into my room, and fashioned a makeshift bird cage out of paper plates and my shower caddy. I transferred the now angry feathered foe into the cage and rushed to the basement to concoct some sort of feed for a baby bird. My mind turned to rice and Triscuts. Rice was thrown out, as were the shredded Triscuts. Unlike the bird, who’s mother was no where in sight, I called my mother for advice. What to feed it, how to feed it, all my fears were calmed. I felt like I could handle the situation at last.

Adding water to my Triscut bits, I slowly made a paste with tweezers that I then fed to the bird through the holes in its playpen. Eagerly, the bird lapped up every droplet of the porridge. Full of food and secured in its surroundings, the bird finally calmed in the center of the cage.

Pretty bird-y

A few hours passed, and I noticed the clouds had departed. It was time to return to reality. No more playing mommy to the orphan bird, there was nature for that. With the help of my friend, we attempted to return the baby to the branches of its home. A sparrow hovered over us, possibly the worried mother. A few failed attempts later, and we succeeded in stabilizing the baby unto a branch long enough for us to walk away as the sparrow lowered to the baby bird’s level.

Nature resumed, restored and respected, even in the most savage of environments, a city sidewalk.

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