May 25, 2006

Dear Patty,

Baby birds are always falling out of trees this time of year around here. Most get lunched on by dogs and cats. A few are lucky enough to be picked up by someone who usually takes them to a veterinarian. We know at least two veterinarians who take in homeless or injured birds.

Last weekend when DC went to pick up our beagle Alvie, she told our vet she'd always wanted to become involved in animal rescue. The vet sent her home with three baby robins, a syringe and some powder.

I wasn't consulted about taking in more boarders, of course, but was not surprised. Rescuing the unfortunate from the animal world has become a rite of spring around our house. DC already has instructed me in the proper technique for mowing the backyard so as not to harm snakes. The wild area that once was a carport behind our house is designated as a playground for rabbits.

Mixed with water, the powder the vet provided becomes nectar to baby birds. The nectar consists of ground corn, wheat, oats, soy, beets, eggs, brewer's yeast and vitamins E and 12. I am just glad not to be concocting a gruel of ground earthworms.

Few creatures on earth act as hungry as a baby bird. Loud chirping greets whoever approaches their cage on the front porch. Their beaks open wide, like steam shovels. One by one is silenced by swallowing the entire syringe. These babies want to live.

They also want to be fed just about hourly. DC gets up in the middle of the night. I sleep.

One of the baby birds refused to take food no matter how hard we tried to coax it into his beak. It died the day after the birds came home.

That same day someone who knew we had the baby robins phoned to say she saw another one sitting on a sidewalk on Broadway and thought we'd want to know. We were back up to three.

Something is wrong with the new one's neck. It's bent over as if broken. Feeding this baby robin means zooming in from a low angle. Its beak can't open as wide as the others' and can't take as much food. It hasn't grown as fast as the other two.

This is the bird that has DC's heart. He might not ever be able to fly, but she'll always make him a home.

Walking on a California beach years ago, some friends and I came upon a baby mouse. It was all alone, its eyes still unopened. We walked on a way before some nagging part of my conscience made me go back and pick up the mouse. I took it home, fed it milk with a syringe and tried to keep it warm.

Charlie, my little mouse, died after a few days. That isn't what mattered. What mattered to me is the realization on the beach that all life is sacred.

Our veterinarian says the day is about to come when the healthy birds will be ready to be released and start eating solid food and making their own menu choices.

That will be one fine day.

Learning how to take care of baby birds is just a first step on the way to bigger things, DC promises. Like squirrels.

Love, Sam

Sam Blackwell is managing editor of the Southeast Missourian.