Small Miracle

I was on a conference call when a retreatant burst into my office exclaiming, "we have a minor crisis on our hands!" I politely excuse myself from the call, pull myself up off the floor (the only comfortable position I could find that day) and follow her to the patio, where she points to the problem. At the end of her intentional digit, is the large birdfeeder sitting on the picnic table. It's a long cylinder with holes drilled hither and yon with metal perches inserted so the birds can feast comfortably. There, on the bottom row, I see the body of a small bird jutting out of one of the feeding holes, but no head! I step closer and realize this creature, in its zeal to get the last safflower seed, has wedged its head so deep into the hole it can't get out. The retreatant is near hysterics...she's been watching this bird struggle for more than an hour to extricate itself.

One of us obviously has to stay calm and come up with a plan, so I check first to see if the bird is still alive, which it is, gently tug on its little body to see if I can free it, which I can't and step back to assess the situation. I open the top of the birdfeeder and look down. All I can see is part of its head, beak and its shining black eye looking up at me, pleading to be set free. There's only one thing to do...break the birdfeeder and set our feathered friend free.

So, I head back into the retreat house for plyers, channel locks, vice grips, whatever tool I can lay my hands on to do the job. The channel lock does the trick, several intentional tugs on the metal perch under its bird body and crack, crack, crack, the plastic gives way and out falls the trembling bird into my waiting hand.

It's in shock, laying on its side, panting, yes, panting like a dog. I'm pretty sure this little fellow is not going to make it, so I stroke its feathers and talk to it softly. It responds by peeing and pooping on me, which I oddly don't mind. The bird and I are locked in a staring contest, you know the one from childhood where the first person to blink loses. I recognize consternation in his fixed gaze. I send the retreatant back into the house for a box and something soft for it to lay on. She reappears with just the right makeshift bird sanctuary. Showing no signs of struggle, I gently lower him into the box where he seems content enough, all-the-while piercing my soul with its onyx stare.

The Ridge is wild, with many natural predators, so now I don the role of protector for our rescued friend. I gently walk the box into the breezeway outside my office. This is where I tend to the ailing houseplants, so it seems logical this is where the bird should recuperate.

I returned to my conference call, complete the meeting and check on the status of the bird. Much to my surprise, not only is he now upright, but flies out of the box in the general direction of my face. I duck and rush to open the door of freedom and our rejuvinated friend exits with a rush. Instead of flying straight away, he stops for a moment and rests, casting a backward glance over his left wing at me. Our eyes meet in a parting 'thank you' and he launches into the heavy summer air to the sanctuary of the forest.