Looking southward from the sunroom window, I marvel at how little snow remains on the ground. There is hardly any around the bird feeders; just a couple days ago we had to shovel our lawn so that the ground feeding Juncos and Robins could find something to eat. The duck pond is full; just a couple days ago it was frozen, and only thawed and became bird-friendly toward afternoon as it was warmed by the sun. The only signs of the foot of snow that fell about a week ago are in the wind shadows of the drift fences and just north of the hedgerow that separates our meadow from the neighbor's meadow to the south. It is now hard to believe that just two days ago we donned our cross country skis for what now appears to have been our last skiing of the season. E're the day is done, even what snow remains now will be gone. As I look down at you, a tear comes to my eye as I wonder what plans you had for this spring that seems finally to have arrived.
It is only twenty-four hours since I noticed that chipmunk, the one who guards our wall, rolling around in the grass. I have often seen chipmunks wrestling with one another, but this time I could not make out a second chipmunk. By the time I got the field glasses, the tussle was over. It was only five minutes later that I noticed some twenty feet to westward a bird, nose down in the snow. With towel in hand, I went out the basement door to where the little one lay. As it saw me approach, it made an effort to move, but could scarcely do so. Placing the towel over it, I gently picked it up and carried it back into the house and up to the first floor, where I placed my tiny burden, with its towel, into a wicker basket near the sunroom window.
At first the sparrow with golden lores moved very little, and it was difficult to discern just how injured it was. As it warmed up, it closed its eyes, but when my knees cracked as I squatted by its side, its eyes opened and it looked around. It was alert, but its legs were splayed out to the side, so it tended to lie on one side or the other, or nose down into the towel. I couldn't tell if either wing was broken, as I didn't want to cause it additional pain or harm.
I cracked a few sunflower seeds and put the contents together with some niger seeds and a bottle cap full of water into the basket. Then I went looking for an eyedropper. After I wet the bird's beak, I saw the swallowing response in the little throat, but the bird soon shook its head and would have no more.
A little later I saw the bird use its left wing to rotate around and move into the sun. We left it undisturbed for some time. As the sunroom was quite warm because of the wood stove, I decided to move the bird to my study, which was much cooler, before Charlotte and I went for a walk through our woods.
My wife and I progressed slowly along our wood road, because melting snow had filled each hollow with water. One cannot walk very easily off the wood road, because the ice storm of January 1998 had left us with many fallen trees, over each of which one had to climb. When we finally returned home, we went to look at the bird, which, however, was no longer in its basket. Nor could we find it anywhere on the floor of the study. Suddenly, I saw it lying next to one of the computers. Somehow it had managed to fly up to my desk. At least its wings seemed to work!
I returned the bird to its basket, and moved the basket out to the living room. Soon, our friend with the golden lores flapped its wings and attempted to fly to the window, but it only succeeded in landing on the electric radiator below the window. Fortunately, the radiator was not on, for the bird ended up on its tummy, with its useless legs dangling over the edge. With a tissue I lifted the bird up to the window, where I placed it so that it could look at the birds feeding just outside. A woodpecker promptly arrived and worked on the suet that we had hung just one foot from the window.
Our bird was obviously interested in what was going on outside, so I decided to let it use its wings one last time. As I opened the window, a fresh breeze entered, and the bird glided down to the grass beneath the feeders, tumbling head over heels as it landed. With the field glasses I looked to see if it made any effort to peck at the ground. It did not, but it made several more attempts at flying, finally going some forty or fifty feet across our driveway in the direction of the woods some three hundred feet away. If it took off again, it might land in our duck pond, so I went out and retrieved it. It spent the rest of the day in its basket, where, however, we found no way to get it to eat.
All day long we tried to contact someone who might know what we could do for this sparrow, but the people we attempted to call either did not answer their phones or, in one case, had died since the last time we had called in search of help for another feathered friend.
That night we put a second larger towel over the basket, and left the lights off in the sunroom. Before six in the morning, when we heard the first chirping of birds, I arose to see whether our friend had survived the night. We knew from previous experience that birds often die after the lights go out and they no longer receive outside stimulation. This was indeed what happened last night. Our little friend was on his back, wings tucked neatly by his side, both feet pointing heavenward. The little fellow with the golden lores had flown his last flight.