Tufts Welcome, No Tiffs Allowed.
What, what, what?
It was 7:30 PM when I arrived at the house, and the birds were chattering. The neighbors on the right had three dogs, and the little black and white Chihuahua was barking at me. What were the birds chattering about?
There. Sitting there on the driveway was a baby bird, a fledgling tufted titmouse.
If the dogs got the bird, that would be its end. So, off I went. Bird diving.
The bird couldn’t fly properly, but it could reach the flower bed near the crepe myrtle. There I had to dig to get the little bird in hand.
Scree, scree, scree. The tiny bird was crying out for its life as I lifted it and began to carry it to the back fence.
I wanted to attract the attention of the parents so they would follow. If I released the bird, they needed to be near to protect the bird.
Throwing the bird into the underbrush seemed to be the best solution. It landed on one of the wild grape vines just over the wire fence. Nice.
I went back to search, but found no other birds. So I though I was in the clear.
Guess again. The next morning I found a second fledgling. If feathers were predictors of moods, this bird was in no good mood. Over the fence it went. Deed done.
It’s been a day and a night since the first bird went over the fence. While checking the garden I chanced to look over the fence into the tangled undergrowth. There sat one of the fledglings quietly eying me. Neither of us said a word. Both of us were left with a question. Could we just be friends?
Psalm 50:11 I [God] know every bird in the mountains, and the creatures of the field are mine.