BABY BLACKBIRD BYE BYE

Little Joey’s gone. He was only in our lives for a few days, but had a huge impact. I initially called him Mussolini because of his face, cross looking when viewed head on, the sides of his blackbirds beak widening to give a dictatorial aspect, that, combined with his demanding cheeps earned him the moniker.

Caoimhe, who has a bird phobia, had found him around the side of the house, almost stepping on him, and had run, breathless into the house, calling “MUM! Muuuum!” Her sister, upon hearing her tone, had run out and when I arrived I was greeted by one baby blackbird and two upset daughters. A shoebox was lined with dried grass and moss, and I 'deftly' lifted the bird and deposited it in it’s new nest. I had observed the bird appeared to have a damaged wing and at least one damaged leg and was hesisitant as to whether we should be helping it at all. Having become aware of it, or course, and not knowing what else to do, I felt we had to ‘do something’. I learned through Googling, that taking on the care of a baby bird is a huge commitment – the box needs to be kept, ideally, at 85 deg F, the air around the bird needs a moisture content of 25 percent, it needs to be fed every two hours around the clock (at least, depending on it’s age) and, baby blackbirds need to be fed pureed dog food with a high water content as giving it water by syringe could drown it. Phew!

As my concerned daughters were too scared to go near Mussolini, I had to step in and become mother. Having breastfed two human infants didn’t prepare me for this task. I’m not a bird and found trying to keep this little mite alive very stressful. I worried about it getting enough food. As it’s legs were so damaged it couldn’t do what baby birds usually do when being fed (i.e. stand up and flap it’s wings – this info thanks to YouTube!) it would fall forwards on it’s beak when trying to feed. At first, I interpreted this as bird language for not wanting food. I eventually learned to wait until it got itself into a position where it could put it’s head back and ‘gape’, and developed a technique of putting the tip of a watercolour brush into it’s beak for it to gently take the food. Then the moistened brush side can be used to wipe excess food from the sides of the beak.

While I continued to feel stressed, I began to enjoy the sound of the blackbirds song in the house and to appreciate it’s contented little cheeps once fed. My concern for it’s condition never waned however, as with a damaged wing, and two damaged legs, how would it ever fend for itself. Esme began to feed it and to share the responsibility for caring for it, followed, miraculously, by Caoimhe, who initially was so sad to not be able to go near it to help it, but who, by day three, was participating in feeding Joey, having thus affectionately named ‘him’.

I wondered at the reason for this little birds appearance in our lives, as everything in the external world is a reflection of the internal. I thought about it’s injured wing and crippled legs, and how sad it is for a little creature to be unable to fulfill what it is born to do. The likelihood was this bird would never fly. I reflected on my own able body and skillsets, and vowed, once again, to fully spread my wings and fly.

On Monday morning, just as I was leaving for work with Joey where I intended to get the vet on The Animal Care course to take a look at him, I received a phonecall from Caoimhe at school asking me to collect her as she was experiencing breathing difficulties, again. She’d had some similar episodes the previous week so this time, I brought her straight to the doctor. After the examination the doctor recommended we go to the A+E at the hospital to rule out a pathological explanation. We came home and fed Joey, who, I noticed also seemed to have developed breathing difficulties. When we returned from the hospital five hours later, having received the all clear for Caoimhe, little Joey, wings spread, head thrown back, had died. This came both as a disappointment and a huge relief. He had been loved and looked after during his short life, helping us in return and now, Little Joey had left behind his damaged body, and his limitations, having reminded us to let go of ours, and flies free, at last.

Image courtesy of Nigel Chaney