“The parents won’t take them back,” my six-year-old son informed them. “They have our scent on them now.”
“Actually, that isn’t true.” The kind lady told him. “That’s an old wives tale. The parenting instinct in them is so strong they will take them back no problem. You just have to get them back to the parents as quickly as possible.”
My son glared at me, the purveyor of this myth and I winced.
Lucky Bird didn’t look very lucky that day. He wasn’t huddled with the others in the corner of the box, but alone to one side. He was smaller and not as mature as the rest. “It will be more dangerous for the parents to raise them on the ground, but it can be done.”
The parents led his siblings away and we became the family of a small and sickly bird. We raised him on a combination of dog food and egg. We watched as his feathers became glossy on the new diet and he made the children laugh with his imperious and demanding squawks.
We knew he was a finch of some kind and in between feedings we poured over bird books trying to further identify this little creature that had taken over our home and stolen our hearts. Not only did we identify him as a house finch but learned to identify other birds as well. The Back Yard Bird Shop became our favorite store and we put up different types of bird feeders for all the different birds in out community. Watching him fly led us to books on flight and we became the avid collectors of feathers. One small bird left us with a big hunger for knowledge.
We were heartbroken when Lucky Bird was killed by a senseless accident, but he left us with an undying love for birds and the sure knowledge of the fragility of this particular creation of Gods. It’s amazing how much learning can be had from one life experience lived to its fullest.
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