When my son woke up today I wanted to tell him that the baby bird was saved by its watchful parents and was likely being fed and kept safe in the bushes.
What I didn’t want to tell him was when I awoke the baby bird was still where we had left him, in the middle of the lawn, but sadly, was no longer. I crept outside in the early morning and moved the bird’s remains to a more appropriate place in the garden and kept quiet about the whole thing.
I dread the children finding a baby bird. The only luck I’ve had with baby birds is bad.
There hasn’t been one successful scenario of a baby bird being found just under it’s nest allowing me to gently return the baby bird to its family with glowing smiles all around.
When this bird was found calling for its mother the children demanded I call the vets. “Ok, its 4:30 on a Sunday, I’ll call the vets.” Lo and behold, someone answered the phone. (I later found it happened to be an open day at the vets.) Anyway, the kind lady that answered the phone told me that it was a fledgling as it was quite big, walking with feathers beginning to come through. The advice was “stay away from the bird. The parents, who are probably close by and watching, will guide the bird to safety.”
I told the children the advice and we all stayed away. Though I thought it was probably a magpie, a couple of crows or rooks seemed to be protecting the fledgling and giving it crow-like advice.
But all in vain.
Maybe it was injured, too young or just not very smart. I know it’s tough out there for baby birds and if they meet me they’re doomed.
This post written by Charlene, a Thames Valley Mums Blog founding contributor.
Photo credit: stephalicious
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