August 25, 2003
Dr. Doolittle
So there we were, in the kitchen of the family home, sweltering in the heat, when a small bird fluttered in through the open window and landed on the cuckoo clock. It struck a pose on the clock as if it was the missing cuckoo (the original had fallen off a few years ago) before taking off and flying further into the house.
I went looking for it and found a wren clinging to a curtain in a bedroom. Very gently, I unclamped its tiny talons from the cloth of the curtain and brought it outside. I opened my hand but it didn't move. In fact, I thought it might die of stress in my hand - it was gasping and blinking very slowly, as if it's life was drifting away despite itself. I was afraid to leave it down because of the cat (who fetched up on the doorstep a few years ago, claimed asylum and is the ultimate feline welfare dodger - and does it repay such generosity with even a flicker of affection ? No it bloody doesn't. It will however kill anything cute or furry that it can lay it's claws upon).
I waited awhile. My dad handed me my crappy digital camera so that I could take a snap, and slowly, life returned to the eyes of the bird. Then my mother arrived, with her camera. Unobtrusive, she was not. Backing practically into the next field to get the shot (how far back to you have to go to fit a wren into the viewfinder?) and roaring instructions at yours truly, it was all too much for the wren. A wren is most identifiable by their upright tail, and this fellow's perked up for the first time since he had arrived. He glanced up at me, pooped on my hand and flew off. My mother got a great shot of my newly decorated hand.
Posted by Monasette at August 25, 2003 10:47 PM | TrackBack