A Rescue of Some Significance.

I rescued a baby Great Tit yesterday. I was doing a job on the front bedroom windows when I saw an indeterminate something-or-other fall into the flower bed below. All I could see from the window was what looked like the tail feathers of a bird, so action had to be taken immediately.

When I got down there I had to search through the heavy summer growth, and eventually spotted a small fledgling Great Tit hanging upside down by its tiny claws to a lateral stalk and looking decidedly groggy. It needed cradling between my hands to keep it warm, and the job had to be done in a crouched position because it wouldn’t let go of the stalk. Eventually it did and I was able to turn it upright while I waited for it to look more alert and aware of its situation.

Once I was reasonably sure it was back in the land of the living, I opened my hand to let it fly away. It didn’t fly away, though; it perched happily (as far as I could tell) on one of my fingers, watching me with apparent interest while I continued to stroke it gently and talk to it (in a quiet and reassuring tone, of course.) It was the loveliest little thing you could wish to see – slightly smaller than an adult, bright eyes full of curiosity, and attired in the softest, most pristine black and yellow plumage.

And so the situation continued for several minutes. I took it around to the back of the house and introduced it to the bird table. I even offered it some oats, but it wasn’t interested. Eventually it decided that the adventure was over and flew with reassuring competence to the roof of the garden shed, and then disappeared into the ivy.

Job done; good wishes; and hope that the little guy doesn’t start its life with any pea-brained notion that humans are something to be trusted. Bad idea.

And in light of the previous post, I might just add that to somebody like me, rescuing a fledgling bird and setting it on its way is of far greater consequence than England winning a football match.