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In early February, our pond was completely frozen and our resident waterfowl were easy prey for the local foxes and raccoons. It's part of the circle of life, but sometimes it's hard to deal with the loss of old friends. One Sunday, I was mourning for Puppy Duck, a beautiful buff hybrid who had been raised with dogs and acted like one. She had been missing for two days, and I had just found a pile of feathers that bore her unmistakable coloring. My heart was heavy as I trudged through my outside chores. A light snow was falling, when suddenly, a small bird whizzed past so close to my head it startled me. I turned to look over my shoulder, and there, sitting on top of the squirrel pen, was a quivering rose and blue vision. Could it be? "Bluebird!" I yelled. She flew down to land on the rim of the bucket I was carrying, and I went down on my knees. I laughed. I cried. I ran to the house for a bowl of mealworms and there she sat, on her favorite place on the fence, just as she had all those long months ago. |
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Bluebird stayed close to the center for the next seven days, visiting with all her old friends and eating all the mealworms we could feed her. The last day, she was seen in the company of a very handsome male bluebird; then she left us for the final time.
There are those who question whether wild creatures that are hand-raised by rehabilitators can ever really be successful in the wild. Sometimes, we wonder these things ourselves. Despite her obvious attachment to her human caregivers, and perhaps against all odds, Bluebird not only survived on her own, but followed the age-old instincts of her kind to possibly migrate many hundreds of miles south; find her way back to the place of her "birth;" and bond with a mate to fulfill a biological imperative as ancient as time. Bluebird's story is one of validation, the wonder of animal intelligence and love. I will never forget her.
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