Empty Nest
“Open Morrie, open!” We pried our Scottie’s jaws apart to find a small bird whole inside his mouth, rain soaked and bedraggled, its tail feathers either gone or not yet grown in. For three days, we sheltered the baby bird with heater on, taking him for feedings on the terrace table where his father and mother could find him and return once or twice per hour to fill him up like a small mechanical bird purchased in the market who, when wound up, first hops, then sits dormant until fueled again.
This fledgling had survived under our care for three days and four nights, hale and hearty. Loud chirps brought the mother, at first, until yesterday, when we could see a new nest in construction. Then the father came, first to a nearby rock, then later, clung to the side of the cage to fill his nestless chick like a small car from the fuel pump.
This morning dawned overcast, and though the chick needed feeding, when I neared the rock, I felt his tremors and took him back to the house for another 10 minutes warming, then tucked him into an old nest I’d found years ago and saved. I hoped for protection and warmth and security, perhaps a memory of the nest he’d fallen from. Then I carried him in his cage back to the tree to be fed.
From the hammock, far enough away to pose no threat, I watched the father’s descent and an ascent too quick. Then no return, so that when minutes later I searched the cage for the small bird tucked into that scavenged nest inside, I found the nest empty and one ruffled back against the cage bottom, claws curled upwards.
There is no difference equal to the difference between a body chirping—wings pulsing—and its empty husk after the life has left. No question bigger than: What is life that we can only see it through what it inhabits, and where does it go when it soars away?
lifelessons - a blog by Judy Dykstra-Brown 
How sad the ending 💔
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Such a touching photo and prose story
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We really thought it would make it. The mother knew better than we did in immediately starting to build a new nest. I think theirs had washed out of the tejas due to the heavy rain. Actually, our dog saved it.
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I’m sorry, but I live in a more urban area. Did the father bird kill it? Did it just die in the cage? I’m confused. Either way, this story is so heartbreaking, but I wouldn’t even know what to do if my dog brought in a bird. You’re very knowledgeable.
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No… The parents kept feeding it but it just didn’t survive. The people at Wildlife Rescue where I went to see what to feed it told me the chances were very slim that it would survive, but I had to try. I thought I’d solved the puzzle once the parents started feeding it, but didn’t work. Problem was there was no place to put it back as obviously the nest had been destroyed. That type of bird often built underneath the curved roof tiles and there was no way to tell where it had been or to restore the nest if i’d known.
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It’s always worth trying to save them 😔
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A melancholy tale, Judy. I was pulling for the little chick to make it, but sometimes life doesn’t work that way. 😥
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Such a sad story, I have lived it. Our home in Houston backed up to the bird sanctuary and I actually took one or two birds there, but they were not encouraging, saying that they had many brought to them but mostly could not help. I am surprised that the foundling got feeding at all for the time you mention, but your story is encouraging. I have been successful with baby ducks because they feed their selves even when very small.
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Beautifully told. Poor little bird. You tried your best. Lovely burial. You write so fluently and your words resound.
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Thanks, Ann, for your always generous words.
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What a story!
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I know that not all the babies survive, but I hate it anyway. I want them all to live and fly.
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Me, too, Marilyn.
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