At night out here, coyotes yip and owls hoot. By day, hawks and rattlesnakes patrol the canyons. More elusive predators – cougars, bears, bobcats, maybe even wolves – are probably not far away. I love being close to the wildness of all this. But it also means tempering my sentiment for individual animals. The cute chipmunk or songbird I meet today may end up somebody’s dinner tonight.
So what should I do when I find a baby bird with more fluff than feathers by the side of the path?
- Young flycatcher in improvised nest. Note the fluff on its head. Several days later, feathers grew in.
I remember rescue attempts from my childhood: baby birds in shoeboxes refusing all food, dying. Slowly. I consider non-intervention. Some predators probably depend on fallen nestlings for survival. Perhaps this is natural selection.
I wrestle with my soft-heart; it wins. I try to scoop the bird into my hand but have to uncurl its toes from blades of grass. I feel a strong heart beat. I put it in the shade of a wild rose bush. An adult bird flutters nearby, calling alarm. I assume it’s one of the parents. It looks like a flycatcher; my best guess is a Western Flycatcher. I assess the ponderosa pine she flew down from. It has no lower limbs, and I can’t see the nest.
I don’t have much hope. I continue on to my remote office to dial-up the internet. I have other business but surf first for information on rescuing baby birds. I find a good idea right away: make an alternative nest.
I use an old chipping sparrow nest in a pine near the yurt. The sparrows fledged several weeks ago. I put the young flycatcher inside and place it in the crook of a hawthorne tree near where I found it.
The theory is that the parents will tend two nests. I’m skeptical. But two days later, I see the baby bird sitting upright, eyes open. Alive.
Gusty winds the following day blow the nest out of the tree. Twice, I rescue the bird from under the hawthorne thicket. Then I put some grass and the old sparrow nest nest in a plastic container and tie it to the branches. I replace the baby bird but fear it may be injured or over-exhausted from its tumbles. But when I walk by later that afternoon, I see the bird perched on a branch next to its new nest, flapping its wings. I figure my job is done.
I’m stil not sure how much to get involved in rescuing baby animals out here. But it feels good to know that some strategies can work.
Hooray for the soft-heart! I think, in a world where songbirds are at risk from human acts, any human act to save even one is worth it. Beautiful job with the improvised nest, and thanks for your efforts. My life changed almost 20 years ago when I rescued a fallen baby bird. I didn’t know then that parents will feed two nests–but of course it makes sense. Wouldn’t have helped that time because the nest was a pendulous oriole basket hanging from the impossibly high frond of a palm tree. The bird (which I surrendered to wildlife rehab a few days later) actually made it and was released again. Then I became a birder, then a wildlife rehabber, then a nature blogger….
Priscilla — Thanks for the reminder that small, tender-hearted acts like these can make a difference.
Good for you! I understand all the arguments about letting nature take its course and all that, but show me where it says there’s no room for a little kindness in our dealings with nature?
Tony – Thanks for weighing in on the side of kindness.