stowaway

2005-07-01 - 9:33 a.m.

Yesterday morning I jump in the car to head to work. I start the car up and then notice on the end of my passenger side windshield wiper a baby bird. Not particularly tiny, but still in the ratty looking feathers still coming in stage. He's staring at me like he's waiting to find out where we're headed. I waggle my fingers at him and tap on the glass under him, but he just stares at my fingers like he's trying to figure out how to eat such big worms. I try to startle him into flying off, but he's not budging. Then I worry that maybe he can't fly at all.

I shut off the car and circle around to his side of the car to chat with him a bit. He listens and watches me, completely unafraid. Not good. He's a bird...his survival instinct ought to e kicking in when something big as me comes at him making noise. I look around but don't see a nest.

I picked up a stick and convinced him to get on the stick instead of the windshield wiper. I carried him, perched on the stick, to a tree and got him to wander up onto a branch. I could hear what was likely mama bird nearby making a big racket. That's good. I leave, hoping that she'll come take care of the rest. I resisted the urge to pet and soothe him since I know some birds won't accept back their babies if they've been touched by humans.

Last night when I got home I was nervous, afraid I might find the baby dead in or under the tree. I scoped out everything around and found no sign of him. I think he made it okay. Here's hoping he finds just a little bit of fear along the way.

One pet peeve about the time around the fourth of July is idiots with fireworks. Last night shortly after I dozed off, dead exhausted, the idiots began. They'd set them off in bursts, waiting a good 5 minutes or so between times. Every time I nearly fell back asleep there'd be another assault.

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