A Bird Story

He (she) was sitting in the absolute middle of my wide, tree-lined street.  Beginning to drive down the block, I saw it almost at the end – perhaps it was a squirrel.  They are everywhere in our town.  And, they are daring.  A squirrel might stay in place until the approaching vehicle has to have brakes jammed on to keep from killing it.    Then it scampers away.

This wasn’t a squirrel. It was a rather chubby, sizeable black bird, sitting there, on both feet (big feet, too), casually blinking its dark eyes but otherwise not moving.

I pulled over and parked.  Maybe it was sick?  Wary of catching an exotic (or not) bird disease, my further inspection was from inside my car through the open window. 

I wasn’t alone on the essentially deserted street.  A man, a painter or plasterer – I guessed, was organizing materials in the back of his van parked at the house on the opposite side of the street.  From the top of the street I noticed him approaching the 'something' that wasn't moving.  In fact, as I approached he made several  almost hands-on attempts to encourage the street-bound bird to fly.

“Is it your bird?” I asked.  No, it wasn’t. He wanted him to move before a car hit him.  “I think he might be sick,” he said.  Standing so close to the bird his shoe likely touched his feathers, I was scared for the man.

From my safe vantage point I cautioned against touching the troubled bird, adding I would call the police and ask them to send animal control.

The police said Animal Control would be along within an hour.  I wanted them there sooner but kept my unhappiness to myself. 

Nervous about the bird’s safety I returned to park on the curbside near him.  This is relevant to my story because . . . in only a few minutes an agitated, bird-chirping ruckus interrupted the quiet morning. The man at his van called it to my attention.  They were two small, shades-of dark and light grey-birds in the trees flitting from limb to limb talking violently.  Then, noisily and aggressively they started flying back and forth over the stranded black bird; one darting toward him as if he would be pecked if he didn’t move. Our bird wouldn’t move. I rolled up my window afraid getting pecked was quickly becoming my destiny as the attackers flew in a wider circle.  

Animal Control was there within ten minutes.  What a relief.  “You pesky birds,” she directed to the obnoxious attackers.  She told us they were mockingbirds.  She said they are territorial and don’t like their environment upset.  Then looking at the fat stranded black bird she said, “Oh it’s a baby crow.”  Whoa!  It didn’t look like a baby.  Gloves on, she picked it up, examined it and put it in a crate in her van.  She said it looked like it would be fine.

At home I researched both birds . . . saw pictures of mockingbirds identical to the ones we faced.  I also read it’s not unusual to find baby crows stranded on the ground and in the street. They have been pushed out of the nest to learn how to fly (and live) on their own.  Type “baby crows” in your internet search box.  You'll find quite interesting reading.

Without a doubt, I’ve got much to learn about many things.