little backed up right now.â
By the time I returned to the flight cage three hours had passed. That goldfinch is probably in Arizona by now, I thought, as I started to pull the dividing door shut so I could let the redtail out of his crate. But before I could shut it completely, a bright flash of motion sped by.
He was still there. And, impossible though it seemed, he appeared to be moving even faster than before. Minutes later I was balancing on a ladder, cutting through the metal hardware cloth several inches below the roof of the second flight cage with a pair of wire cutters. I cut three sides of a rectangle, then peeled the hardware cloth downward, creating a roomy opening. Pulling a large pair of scissors out of my back pocket, I sliced an identical opening through the green mesh lining. I peered inside; for once, the goldfinch was still. But not for long.
I started to climb down the ladder, and before Iâd even reached the ground, a streak of yellow shot out over my head. And instantly, it was gone.
I stood blinking. It was my very first songbird release. What happened? I had planned to be surrounded by enthusiastic, admiring family members whose lives would be enriched by the experience, one of whom would be taking a sequence of perfect photos suitable for framing. I had planned to release a bird who, once let go, would leap into the air, circle back, dip his wings at me in gratitude, and then soar away into the clear blue sky.
Instead I was the sole participant in the release of an ornery, ungrateful creature who really didnât need my help, who had been a terrible pain in the neck, and who parted without a backward glance.
I had to laugh at the lovely image I had created, an image I knew from the start had nothing to do with reality. The goldfinch had simply followed one of the principal rules of wildlife rehab: they never do what you want them to do.
Â
Late that afternoon I sat at the kitchen table, overseeing the kidsâ art projects while on the phone I described the flight-cage surgery to my friend Matt McMahon, a bird lover who had offered his carpentry skills for any small projects that came along.
âThatâs no problem,â said Matt. âWhat Iâll do is frame out the rectangle and rest it on a couple of hinges, then put a lock at the top. Itâll be like a trapdoorâwhen you want to release a bird youâll open the lock and pull it down, and when youâre done you just push it back closed and lock it again. Tomorrow morning okay? Iâll swing by early and get the measurements.â
I happily busied myself with paper and glue until Mac broke the silence.
âLook!â he said. âWhat is that bird doing?â
We followed Macâs pointing finger to the bird feeder filled with niger seed, where the usual mixed group of wild house finches and goldfinches had collected. Normally it was a fairly peaceable kingdom, with the occasional skirmishes between males resolved after a few moments of sparring. But this time a brilliant yellow male appeared to be harassing the others. Flying in furious loops he dove in and out among them, sending them scurrying away while he ricocheted from tree to tree and back again.
âIâm sorry!â I called to the other birds. âIâm so, so sorry.â
Chapter 9
PREDATORS, GUARDIANS, AND GRUBS
I needed to take a run.
Iâm not a particularly fast runner, nor do I cover dozens of miles at a stretch. I run because I need to get out into the woods, to be alone on a rocky trail, to hear the sounds of the forest without the ubiquitous background hum of traffic and human voices. I also run because if I am stressed out and donât run, Iâm afraid my head will explode.
When we first moved into our house we heard stories about a pair of reclusive but ferocious hawks who nested near one of the trails. They were seen only during the late spring and early summer, but woe betide the unwary
By the time I returned to the flight cage three hours had passed. That goldfinch is probably in Arizona by now, I thought, as I started to pull the dividing door shut so I could let the redtail out of his crate. But before I could shut it completely, a bright flash of motion sped by.
He was still there. And, impossible though it seemed, he appeared to be moving even faster than before. Minutes later I was balancing on a ladder, cutting through the metal hardware cloth several inches below the roof of the second flight cage with a pair of wire cutters. I cut three sides of a rectangle, then peeled the hardware cloth downward, creating a roomy opening. Pulling a large pair of scissors out of my back pocket, I sliced an identical opening through the green mesh lining. I peered inside; for once, the goldfinch was still. But not for long.
I started to climb down the ladder, and before Iâd even reached the ground, a streak of yellow shot out over my head. And instantly, it was gone.
I stood blinking. It was my very first songbird release. What happened? I had planned to be surrounded by enthusiastic, admiring family members whose lives would be enriched by the experience, one of whom would be taking a sequence of perfect photos suitable for framing. I had planned to release a bird who, once let go, would leap into the air, circle back, dip his wings at me in gratitude, and then soar away into the clear blue sky.
Instead I was the sole participant in the release of an ornery, ungrateful creature who really didnât need my help, who had been a terrible pain in the neck, and who parted without a backward glance.
I had to laugh at the lovely image I had created, an image I knew from the start had nothing to do with reality. The goldfinch had simply followed one of the principal rules of wildlife rehab: they never do what you want them to do.
Â
Late that afternoon I sat at the kitchen table, overseeing the kidsâ art projects while on the phone I described the flight-cage surgery to my friend Matt McMahon, a bird lover who had offered his carpentry skills for any small projects that came along.
âThatâs no problem,â said Matt. âWhat Iâll do is frame out the rectangle and rest it on a couple of hinges, then put a lock at the top. Itâll be like a trapdoorâwhen you want to release a bird youâll open the lock and pull it down, and when youâre done you just push it back closed and lock it again. Tomorrow morning okay? Iâll swing by early and get the measurements.â
I happily busied myself with paper and glue until Mac broke the silence.
âLook!â he said. âWhat is that bird doing?â
We followed Macâs pointing finger to the bird feeder filled with niger seed, where the usual mixed group of wild house finches and goldfinches had collected. Normally it was a fairly peaceable kingdom, with the occasional skirmishes between males resolved after a few moments of sparring. But this time a brilliant yellow male appeared to be harassing the others. Flying in furious loops he dove in and out among them, sending them scurrying away while he ricocheted from tree to tree and back again.
âIâm sorry!â I called to the other birds. âIâm so, so sorry.â
Chapter 9
PREDATORS, GUARDIANS, AND GRUBS
I needed to take a run.
Iâm not a particularly fast runner, nor do I cover dozens of miles at a stretch. I run because I need to get out into the woods, to be alone on a rocky trail, to hear the sounds of the forest without the ubiquitous background hum of traffic and human voices. I also run because if I am stressed out and donât run, Iâm afraid my head will explode.
When we first moved into our house we heard stories about a pair of reclusive but ferocious hawks who nested near one of the trails. They were seen only during the late spring and early summer, but woe betide the unwary
Similar Books
Behind the Yellow Tape: On the Road With Some of America's Hardest Working Crime Scene Investigators
Jarrett Hallcox, Amy Welch
