Our bird died. In this case, I think it’s best to start at the end and work my way back to the beginning.
Simon came home yesterday with a Northern Flicker – a juvenile that fell from the nest and was attacked by crows. They were on the verge of killing it.
Simon brought it home and made a cage and nest for it – fed it cat food – put a dish of water in the cage. We could only hope for the best.
The next morning, as he was checking on it, the bird flew out and away to the neighbour’s property across the street. There, Simon listened to it calling most of the day – for its parents we believe. Poor baby. As night began to set in, it came back and allowed Simon to pick it up and put it back in the cage. Simon built it a much nicer home – made it warm and cozy with old rags. This morning he bought suet and treated its wounds with Polysporin.
But the little guy was huddled in a corner, his head under his wing. Then he almost fell into his water dish. It didn’t look good. When I went out to check on him near noon, he had died.
Simon is crazy sad; he did everything he could – studied all he could on the Internet about its habitat and food and what to do for it. He did everything he could. The crows had injured it too badly.
But here’s the good thing: he was kind to the little guy, stroked it gently before it died, gave it a quiet, safe place to leave the earth – kind of like a hospice.
Yesterday, he also saved a Western Toad that had got stuck in our window well.
He is a champion of wildlife. A beautiful soul.
