A few weeks ago - come to think of it, it was right after we got back home after Jim's funeral - I noticed a long piece of straw hanging down from under our deck framework. Our house is built on a hill sloping up toward the front, so the front door is on the ground level in front, and our partially finished basement opens on the ground level in the back. If you go out the basement door you can look up at the framework of the deck which extends back from the house on the main floor.
Anyway, the dangling piece of straw led up to a very sloppily built bird's nest. I politely left the nest alone, including the untidy piece of straw, and waited for developments. Actually I kind of forgot about it until my step daughter, who was visiting with us last week, noticed that a mother robin was flying back and forth up to the nest. I investigated and sure enough there were three baby birds inside, sitting with their necks extended up and their mouths open, patiently waiting for one of their parents to come and feed them.
Since then I've been spending some time downstairs working to rebuild a small deck off our bedroom, and every time I would go by the nest the baby chicks seemed to grow a little bit larger.
One day after I had walked under the nest I heard a thud. When I looked around I saw a baby chick lying stunned on the cement. He (or she) had jumped out of the nest, fluttered across the porch, and hit the screen door. I thought, "Oh no, I walked too close to the nest frightening the chicks, and one of them jumped out of the nest too soon." Pretty soon however, the little fellow got up, fluttered his wings a little - they didn't look like they were big enough to do him much good - and hopped into some bushes.
My wife Sarah said, "Why didn't you put him back in the nest?" but my uncle told me long ago you can't put a baby bird back in the nest because his mother won't accept him. I still don't know if this is true or not, but I was also afraid he would die of fright even if I was able to catch him.
The next day Hansy, our miniature dachshund, was sitting with me while I was painting some wood for the deck, and low and behold, the baby bird hopped out of the bushes, fluttered clumsily across the yard and then hopping into another bush. Hansy, of course, is no threat to the denisons of our back yard. He just sat calmly with me, watching while the little chick risked life and limb to cross the yard. We have a few rabbits and squirrels living in our yard, but Hansy has never shown any interest in chasing them.
Later that afternoon I heard some chirping from the chick's second hiding place, and then saw an adult robin fly down behind the bush with a big worm. Sarah observed, "Animals take better care of their children than some humans do."
Today, as I was clipping the hedge in front of the house, Sarah called to me, saying, "There's your little bird." Sure enough a baby chick was hopping around on the front porch. Pretty soon it flew over to a nearby bush. He's getting stronger. I looked in the nest later, and his siblings are no longer there, so maybe he was old enough to leave the nest after all. I hope so.
My first impulse on seeing our little robin neighbors was to call and tell Jim, my mother, but she's no longer there for me to talk to. She loved to hear stories about animals, like when a family of racoons visited us one night, or when a fox chased a squirrel up onto our roof, or when a couple of bighorn sheep walked right past me on the trail while I was hiking. I'd always take pictures of the animals I saw or cut clippings out of the newspaper with stories about animals, and send them to her, but I can't anymore.
I've talked with my mother on the phone every two or three days for the last 10 years - ever since my father died, and I miss her.
Anyway, the dangling piece of straw led up to a very sloppily built bird's nest. I politely left the nest alone, including the untidy piece of straw, and waited for developments. Actually I kind of forgot about it until my step daughter, who was visiting with us last week, noticed that a mother robin was flying back and forth up to the nest. I investigated and sure enough there were three baby birds inside, sitting with their necks extended up and their mouths open, patiently waiting for one of their parents to come and feed them.
Since then I've been spending some time downstairs working to rebuild a small deck off our bedroom, and every time I would go by the nest the baby chicks seemed to grow a little bit larger.
One day after I had walked under the nest I heard a thud. When I looked around I saw a baby chick lying stunned on the cement. He (or she) had jumped out of the nest, fluttered across the porch, and hit the screen door. I thought, "Oh no, I walked too close to the nest frightening the chicks, and one of them jumped out of the nest too soon." Pretty soon however, the little fellow got up, fluttered his wings a little - they didn't look like they were big enough to do him much good - and hopped into some bushes.
My wife Sarah said, "Why didn't you put him back in the nest?" but my uncle told me long ago you can't put a baby bird back in the nest because his mother won't accept him. I still don't know if this is true or not, but I was also afraid he would die of fright even if I was able to catch him.
The next day Hansy, our miniature dachshund, was sitting with me while I was painting some wood for the deck, and low and behold, the baby bird hopped out of the bushes, fluttered clumsily across the yard and then hopping into another bush. Hansy, of course, is no threat to the denisons of our back yard. He just sat calmly with me, watching while the little chick risked life and limb to cross the yard. We have a few rabbits and squirrels living in our yard, but Hansy has never shown any interest in chasing them.
Later that afternoon I heard some chirping from the chick's second hiding place, and then saw an adult robin fly down behind the bush with a big worm. Sarah observed, "Animals take better care of their children than some humans do."
Today, as I was clipping the hedge in front of the house, Sarah called to me, saying, "There's your little bird." Sure enough a baby chick was hopping around on the front porch. Pretty soon it flew over to a nearby bush. He's getting stronger. I looked in the nest later, and his siblings are no longer there, so maybe he was old enough to leave the nest after all. I hope so.
My first impulse on seeing our little robin neighbors was to call and tell Jim, my mother, but she's no longer there for me to talk to. She loved to hear stories about animals, like when a family of racoons visited us one night, or when a fox chased a squirrel up onto our roof, or when a couple of bighorn sheep walked right past me on the trail while I was hiking. I'd always take pictures of the animals I saw or cut clippings out of the newspaper with stories about animals, and send them to her, but I can't anymore.
I've talked with my mother on the phone every two or three days for the last 10 years - ever since my father died, and I miss her.
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