The Little Bird

The little robin was no longer a chick, but not quite an adult. It was in the awkward in-between stage of life where it was no longer cared for by others but could not care for itself. The little bird could not yet fly, so it just sat in the wet grass and peeped intermittently, hoping for rescue. The little bird was being pelted by rain, and the wind was whipping through his fluffy down feathers. There were other birds around--sparrows who were nesting in the little bird house hanging from the oak tree; bluebirds waiting out the rain by huddling under the awning of the wood pile; grackles and cowbirds huddled on branches thick with leaves. No one answered the little bird's desperate calls. The bird peeped louder, and hopped in circles. None of the other birds took any notice. When the rain finally stopped, the other birds flew away, going off to find food or bits of string or dry grass to add to their nest.

Tim came out of his house. He was glad the rain had come, since it got him out of mowing the lawn. He was glad the rain stopped, since now he could go outside and wander. He came down the stairs of the porch and waded into the high grass. That is when he saw the little bird. He looked around, and did not see its mother. Perhaps, Tim thought, the little bird was cast out of the nest too early. It was clear that it could not fly. Its wings were short and the feathers not fully developed. Tim watched the little bird hop in circles, occasionally peeping. When the little bird saw him, it did not run. It just stayed right where it was, breathing softly and staring at the figure that bent down over it. The figure was tall, but not as tall as a full grown man. His face was pink and pocked with little sores and bumps. His hair hung down in front, almost to his eyes.

“Hello, little bird,” said Tim. He studied the creature carefully. It's beak was flat, gray, and sharp. Its wet feathers were sticking at all angles, like bed head, Tim thought. The bird looked like a tiny hobo, disheveled and alone, waiting for a train. Tim noticed that the top of its flat head had a sore, gently oozing blood. He wondered what could have caused the wound.

“Peep,” said the little bird. It was afraid.

Tim thought the bird was hungry. He hurried to the flower bead, just a few yards away, and hastily dug around in the gaps between the flowers. Between the Leopard's bane and phlox, he found a worm. He brought it back to the little bird. He dangled the worm in front of the little bird. The bird did nothing. Tim touched the worm to the tip of the bird's beak. Still, the bird would not eat. Tim tried once more to get the little bird to eat the worm, but the bird would not cooperate. Tim tossed the worm in the tall grass.

It started to rain again, a cold drizzle that fell on Tim's neck and sent a shiver down his back. The little shook vigorously, dispelling water from its fluffy feathers. Tim wanted to get the bird out of the rain. He tried to pick up the bird. It hopped away from his hand. Tim remembered that birds often will perch on a person's hand, so he tried to put his finger under the bird's feet. The bird hopped away again. Tim paused, thinking about what to do. Distracting the little bird with one hand, he quickly but gently grabbed the bird with the other hand.

“Cheep,” cried the little bird.

“Don't worry,” said Tim. “I will not hurt you.”

Tim then put the little robin in the palm of his free hand. The bird crouched low, but did not move. With his other hand, Tim carefully stroked the bird's neck and back, petting it until it began to relax. Slowly, Tim carried the little bird behind the wood pile, where trees with high canopies kept out a good deal of rain. In a little spot of bare dry ground, Tim sat down with the little bird. He looked at it and admire it. He studied its spotted down feathers and the little spot of blood on the top of its head. He looked at its clawed feet, which tickled the palm of his hand.

“It's a shame you would not eat,” said Tim. “I just wanted to take care of you.”

Then, with one fluid movement, Tim took the little bird's head in his hands and twisted its neck until he heard a crack, and the creature went lifeless in his hands.