ROBIN was one of our first attempts to rescue a nestling. He/she was found on a NYC sidewalk by my sister. After a vain attempt to locate the nest, she called her brother, then "birdman of Whitestone", (Queens, NY). Robin lived long enough for his/her eyes to open up (about two and a half days) and greet the morning sun. Whether our ministrations were inadequate in comparison to that of Mother Robin, or simply that this tiny nestling was not strong enough to survive, we cannot tell. Though a nestling robin falling out of a tree is an event which is I am certain repeated a hundred thousand times each spring, I cannot describe to you the awe we felt when it opened its eyes for the first time, or uttered its first hungry peeps, nor can I relate the sense of loss we felt when this tiny life slipped away.
GLENDOVE introduced us to the world of mourning doves. He was found standing in the middle of the road in what I believe to be a heat induced daze which sometimes effects mourning doves in the summer. Glendove was with us for a week before he succumbed to an infection we never knew he had until it was too late. This is one of the cases where I can honestly say I wish I knew then what I know now. He was a gentle bird with a quiet voice and fathomless mourning dove eyes.
GRACKLE was a gray speckled pigeon with unusual bronze colored markings on his wings. Never has this human worked so hard to resue an injured bird. Sick and wounded, Grackle was plucked off the four story roof peak of a neighborhood church. (Being the church elder and having a reputation for doing such things keeps too many of the parishioners from wondering what on earth you might be doing up there). I had known this bird in the past. He lived in my yard and lived off the grain we provided. He was as tame as a bird can be without being a pet. So when he became injured , I felt compelled to improve my prayer life and go after him. He offerd no resistance to the seed man. I plucked him up, wishing I had wings too, and made my descent down the rickety ladder. Grackle passed on a week later, leaving this world under the care of a Manhattan animal hospital. Once again, knowing then what I know now might have yeilded a different outcome.
SKUNKY was so named for his characteristic coloration - all black with one white flight feather on each wing and a white skunk-like stripe on his head. He too was one of my backyard friends - familiar and nearly tame. He was the victim of a stray cat attack.
PETIE (January, 1999) was found in a snow storm on Iowa State Highway 67, moments after being struck by a speeding 4x4. The fledgling pigeon (about four months old) had his right wing broken and nearly torn off. He was also malnourished and probably sickly. (Most likely why he didn't have the strength to fly out of the way - pigeons are usually quite amazing that way). Gentle Petie was with us for four days and after a trip to the vet in the midst of a midwestern blizzard and an amazing surgury (the vet inserted a steal pin to hold the wing together), Petie was given a fair chance for survival. The regamin of antibiotics seemed to be taking effect as well. Early in the morning on the fourth day of Petie's stay with us he took a turn for the worse - it seemed he had torn out some of his stitches in the brief time since I last checked on him and he had lost quite a lot of blood. My avian first aid techniques have of neccesity become pretty good but his injuries were compounded by a still weakend and not fully developed system, his breathing became labored and about an hour later he died in my helpless hands.
- A.M.L. 1/99