Little Bird

I came home to find this little bird sitting on my front porch. His (her?) eyes were closed and he was breathing very rapidly, though maybe it was just normal for a little bird. He did not respond to me, and I feared he had landed here to die. I watched him and worried about what I should do - should I take him to a bird rescue, or just let him be, or finish him off, or attempt to tend to him myself? I felt stupid and helpless.

I used to have a banty chicken. She was all black with a wild blonde mop of feathers on her head, so we called her Denise Rodman. One day her head ended up in the mouth of Lucy, our Border Collie pup, and we barely retrieved her in time. She was heavily salivated and looking like mashed prunes (as Henry and Mudge would say), and the kids were crying for her, so we tucked her into the kitty carrier and took her to the vet. He looked stumped but did his best to examine the little chicken, and sent us home with a tube of eye ointment, instructions to pamper her in a warm box until she felt better, and a bill for fifty dollars.

After pacing back and forth from my desk to the front window for a while, I decided I couldn't leave this one's fate to the Muffin cat, who was bound to discover him soon. So, I lined a bucket with a soft towel, and chose a small cloth to use to pick him up. As I crept up to him there was no response. I gently draped the cloth over his back and began to scoop my fingers under his little body, when suddenly! his eyes flew open, he jumped from under my hand, and he took to the air as if nothing had happened!

Evidently he must have flown into my front window and stunned himself, and this is a common thing for a bird to do. They are temporarily knocked into this state of shock, but rest and a few moments of warmth will miraculously revive them! I looked him up; this little guy was an Oregon junco. His pink beak gives him away.