our wild lives

Yesterday afternoon I heard a thud. That terrible, heart-wrenching bird-on-glass sound that is the final utterance of too many urban songbirds. I had just emerged from the shower and turned to the window--the blinds of which I just lifted a moment before--in time to see a smudge with a downy feather stuck to it.

I cursed, hurried downstairs and into the backyard where I found, just the other side of the air conditioner (I didn't even know we had one) a motionless Northern Flicker. I was expecting a chickadee or maybe a mourning dove, but this is a relatively scarce bird, especially in suburbia.

The guilt washed over me as I recalled all the birds I've attempted to rescue (grackles, starlings, sparrows) and failed miserably. As I got closer, I noticed the bird was blinking and gasping. Spurred on by relief and optimism, I gently picked it up and brought it in the house. The flicker was warm to the touch, soft, and fragile-feeling. Jay, Mike's girlfriend had me curse and rush out, gasped when she say the bird (she thought I'd hurt myself...) and I called for Mike to bring me a shoebox.

Note to amateur naturalists: birds go into shock fairly easily. The signs are

• lack of response to stimulus
• beak open  and panting
• irregular, slow blinking
• loss of equilibrium

Treatment should consist of the following

• place the injured bird in a shoebox (with airholes) lined with newsprint or paper towel
• put the box in a warm, dry, quiet place
• be patient
• do NOT feed or water the injured bird

A few hours later, Mike checked on the bird. I was out and he called me on the phone saying it had soiled its box. Perfectly normal, I told him, If you want to, you can put a new layer of paper towel down.

Mike took the box out into the backyard, lifted the lid, and flicker flew away.

So satisfying.