Skip to main content

Avian rescue

It's been a while, so I begin with a huge apology to all those crowds of you who have been anxiously refreshing your web browsers waiting for the next installment. What's that? Oh, well an apology to my two readers then.

Anyway, for the delight and edification of these highly dedicated followers, and anyone else who occasionally clicks on the link when they have nothing better to do, I now present the touching! the death-defying! the heart-wrenching! story of a little bird named... oh wait, we never named him. How about Peep? Peep kinda fits. So, a little bird named Peep. Here we go.

Now Peep was a baby barn swallow, and his parents have made previous appearances in this blog. They hadn't had an easy time of it, as their first nest had been destroyed, and they'd had to find mud and grass to build a new one. Into this mud cocoon Peep was born, featherless and tiny. Little did he know that certain humans considered his kind to be dirty and messy - a health hazard, in short, and not in keeping with the image they wished to convey. The order came down from above: Destroy The Nests.

Thus it was that Peep made an unscheduled vertical journey of about 15 feet onto hard concrete. He wasn't nearly big enough to fly yet, but he was the biggest of his brood. His three brothers and sisters all died. Fortunately for Peep, a kind male human left his apartment to go to work before the man with the blower came round to clear away the remains. His exclamation of distress alerted a female, who carefully scooped Peep up and popped him back in the remains of the nest. Safe for now, Peep sat on a ledge in the hope that his parents might come back and find him.


Meanwhile, some extensive internet research and telephoning on the part of the female human revealed that barn swallows are more important than you might think. They are, in fact, protected by the Migratory Bird Treaty Act, and nobody ought to be pulling down nests which have chicks in them. Or even eggs, for that matter. Armed with this information, the woman stormed the stronghold of those who perpetrated this foul deed (aka the rental office), only to be met with complete indifference. She called the US Fish and Wildlife Service. The agent was out. She discovered a bird rescue center. It was 40 miles away and she didn't have a car. She drew all kinds of blanks. Peep's fate still hung in the balance. Would his parents work out where he was? Would they be allowed to stay? Was there anywhere else he could go?

The next day, Peep was still there. Still sitting in his nest, in a box, on a ledge. And amazingly, still alive. His parents didn't seem to be anywhere around, and Peep was feeling hungry. A hungry baby bird is all mouth, I can tell you, and Peep was opening his just as wide as he could get it. There wasn't much coming in, though. The nice humans tried a few drops of water off a wet towel, and pretty near soaked him in the process. They weren't prepared to try regurgitating insects, though, so poor Peep didn't get anything to eat. It started to seem as though Peep had been kept alive for nothing. Maybe they should have just let the man with the blower sweep him away.


Finally, after another round of frantic telephoning, they found a lady who took in abandoned birds. They called her. She could take him. Now? Now would be fine.

Peep's fortunes were suddenly looking up again. For a start, he got a ride in a car, which isn't a claim many barn swallows can make. Then he landed on the doorstep of someone who really knew how to look after him. He lost contact with the kind couple who first picked him up, but they hoped he survived. He deserved to.


(The Fish and Wildlife agent did call back a few days later and promised to speak to the apartment management. A happy ending all round.)

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Greece is the word! Part 1: Athens

The last few times we have been on holiday, my family has asked, "Mum, are you going to blog about this one?" It's felt like an overwhelming task. For a start, we now have FOUR phones with photos on, rather than one digital camera. Also, I regularly write quite long blog posts about three-hour walks. How on earth will I summarise a full week's holiday? But this time, I thought I should try. It's one of the most enjoyable holidays we've had in a while, and I've definitely done too many Peak District posts recently. Everyone needs a change of scenery. So here we go, jetting off to Athens. Day 1 We landed at Athens airport in a looming thunderstorm, but the worst of the rain held off until we'd made it safely to our apartment. Graham had earmarked a nice little restaurant called Lolos for dinner - eating shell-on prawns in tomato sauce was a deliciously messy experience - and we went to bed early after our 3am start. Day 2 Next day we climbed Philopappos ...

Greece is the word! Part 2: Epidaurus

For the first part of our Greek holiday, see here . Day 4 - continued After much waiting around, we acquired a hire car and set off for the second part of our holiday. I am so glad that Graham can get into a strange car in a foreign country and drive away with no problems. I would be a nervous wreck. Even Graham was a little spooked by the Athens traffic - very narrow lanes crowded with cars and buses, and mopeds zipping in and out of every available gap. I had left Google Maps set to "avoid tolls", which meant that we stayed off the fancy new highway and took the old road towards Corinth instead. There was practically no traffic, so although it was slower, it felt very relaxed. We passed hills, hotels and oil refineries. Along the way, we stopped at a supermarket for supplies and drank Green Cola at the beach over the road. Crossing the Corinth Canal at Isthmia, we started heading south through the mountains of the Peloponnese. The sky had been growing darker and darker, and...

Derwent Valley: Belper and Duffield

I'm getting into familiar territory with this walk. Duffield is one of the closest places that I can easily drive to and climb a hill, so I've done lots of walking around here. It's surprising how many new places I still see, though. Temperature: warm. Likelihood of being attacked by hordes of nettles: low. I decide to wear shorts. It's a good choice. The paths are well-trodden, and the sun is bright, though there's a pleasant breeze. There's plenty of free parking by Duffield church, so I drive there and walk across a field to the main road. Veering left up King Street, there is lots to see: the Methodist church, a butchers, and a penny-farthing gate. At the cemetery, I turn right and pick up a path towards the golf course. I'm heading towards the Chevin Hills here, which are the absolute lower reaches of the Pennine range. The ancient trackway along the ridge of the hills is another favourite walk. But today I'm just going straight down the other side ...