Yesterday afternoon started normally. I drove home, got the mail from the front of the apartment complex, and parked in front of our building. From where I parked, I could see into the covered hall that led to the stairs, and I spotted something unfamiliar. Looked like a dead bird from where I sat. I vowed to ignore it when I got out of the car and headed for the stairs. I hate seeing dead things. I couldn't ignore it, though, when I saw it start to kick. Hold the phone.
The not-dead bird was a baby, probably only recently hatched. Its eyes were closed, it still had hairy-looking tufts versus feathers, its skin was semi-transluscent, and it was flailing ineffectually to try and get back on its feet, being too back-heavy to stay upright. I bolted upstairs, grabbed a shoebox and my phone and headed back down, hoping that a dog hadn't gone by in the minute I was gone. The baby was still there, luckily, and it looked unharmed. I made a quick call to Hubby and asked him to find me some local wildlife rescues or give me SOME information on what to do with this baby. It started to peep weakly when I was on the phone.
Obviously, the first thing to do is try to find its nest. We're in an apartment complex, and this baby was IN the apartment area. I have no clue where it came from. The nearest bushes were still a ways away for a guy his size and thorny; the nearest tree, even further. With as poorly as he could walk, I don't think he got there on his own. Because of the thorns, I couldn't even begin to search the bushes for a nest, and I had no ladder to get him back in the trees. Hubby texted me back with several numbers for vets and rescues, and I managed to get in touch with one half an hour away. They told me what I already knew about trying to find his nest, and when I explained the situation, told me to bring him in; they were going to stay open until I could get him there. Back upstairs to grab a towel, pop the baby in the box, and upstairs once again to grab my GPS and plug in the wildlife rescue's address. As soon as the baby hit the towel, he got LOUD, and he opened his eyes. He definitely wasn't as weak as I had thought he was outside; he must have just been cold on the hard concrete. I guess he thought the towel was his nest because he started squalling for food.
I didn't waste any time popping the box in the car and getting on the road. He peeped the whole way, not moving from the spot he'd settled into in the towel versus the active crawling he'd been doing on the ground. I was grateful for the regular reminder that he was fine. When I finally found the place, they were still open despite having supposed to have closed 15 or 20 mintues before. They took the little guy somewhere in the back, but I could still hear him the whole time I was there. I filled out a form, thanked the women working there for all their help, and finally headed home.
They gave me a case number so I could call and check on him. I...don't know if I want to. All my life, my family's rescued baby animals when we've found them. They've all died: a squirrel my dad found on his way home, a mouse we found in with our pots and pans shortly after we found Momma in a trap, a bunny our cat caught but didn't kill, and another bird I found on an environmental trip in middle school. That one was the worst, not just because the poor thing's eye had been pecked, but also because that same event jaded me against politics and public news organizations. We were donating hundreds of dollars in change to an Everglades protection group. We'd spent weeks earning it around school, doing plays in every class to demonstrate the need to save the Everglades and the endangered animals in it. We were so proud of ourselves, and our teacher was as well. The lieutenant governor, who was running for the governer's seat against Jeb Bush at the time, came to congratulate us, and a news organization came to film us making the donation, which we did by pouring all our jars into a wheelbarrow. A few of us were interviewed, and we proudly called our little rescue bird our mascot. We couldn't wait to see ourselves on the 5PM news. I remember eagerly sitting there at home with my parents, waiting. I didn't get interviewed, but maybe I'd be filmed in the background. People were gonna see what a good thing we did, and we'd get to see our little birdy.
All we saw was our hands pouring our jars of money into the wheelbarrow as they talked about the lt. governor's race. They turned our entire school's weeks of work and selfless donations into stock footage to cut down the man running for office. Our mascot died over the weekend. I'm still bitter over the unfairness of it all, as well as how our education system there was run into the ground after that election. I associate that day and that bird with the loss of part of my innocence as it got dragged silently into the realm of dirty politics and dirty news.
I guess I'm hoping that this bird now will make it. That maybe, saving him will give me some closure from the little mascot we lost back then. But if I call and I hear "I'm sorry, he didn't make it", I...I don't know. I don't know if I can handle it. Maybe ignorance is bliss. Whatever the case, I think I'll send a small donation to the wildlife rescue. Show my appreciation for their help yesterday.
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