Bluejay

This morning I heard from inside the house a great squawking of birds in the yard. I went out and found a multitude of Bluejays swirling around the apple tree, and then one young female bird on the ground below.

The dogs, who had come out the door with me, immediately began to consider eating this bird, but of course I shooed them away. I knelt and cupped the poor creature in both hands. She flapped her wings and fell from my palms once again to the ground. I could see no wounds, nothing terribly wrong, and yet the bird was unable to fly, or even to stand on its legs.

I carried the bird about the yard, wondering how I could protect it against the dogs. The other birds were still squawking, still diving, swooping past my head. I tried to put the injured bird into the apple tree, but she fell out at once and ended again on the ground.

She made no struggle in my hands, made no attempt to escape. She looked at me, beak open, heart thumping, her body soft and warm.

What can I do, I wondered? How can I help this bird? How shall I keep it from the dogs? It would not stay in the tree. I placed her for a moment on the top of the outdoor table, and yet she seemed to raise up with all her might, to seek again the protection of my hands.

It struck me then that I might save the bird by putting it into the neighbor's yard, beyond the fence that would forbid the dogs. I lifted it over, gently released its body. She half flew, half glided to the grass, perhaps six feet distant.

Instantly then, a large gray cat leaped out from the bushes, where apparently it had been hiding all this while. Hissing, the cat fell upon the bird.

And that was the end of the bird.

Isn't that just the way with the world? We mean well, we want what is good, but the best of ones heart is ever prey to the hunger of the unforgiving wild.

I felt so bad for that bird. Really she hadn't a chance from the beginning, but I had just somehow imagined she might.