A Bird in the Hand

April 20, 2007

Someone help me out here.  I know this is a famous quote:  “My life when it is written shall read better than it lived,” but I can’t for the life of me remember who said it and since I’m currently in New Zealand, my access to Google is limited.

Anyway, I’m been meaning to sit down and write about my weird life and the animal stories I collect.  As I mentioned, I’m currently in New Zealand.  I have friends down here and they’re letting me use their beach house while they are away.  New Zealand, like a lot of the old Crown colonies, hasn’t embraced central heating so the house has a couple of wood burners.  The little one in the kitchen is called the Chipper (because it is smaller and you’re supposed to use the wood chips to keep it going.

Arrived back at the house after a week at Mt. Cook hiking around.  The place was cold, so I was going about the chore of bringing in wood and starting up the “heat.”  I was about to put wood in the Chipper when I heard funny noises.  Well, it was windy since we were getting a Southeaster bring in cold winds, so I thought nothing of it.

Opened the door and out flew three very surprised, and very ash-covered sparrows.  Let’s admit it; I was surprised too!  At that very moment I was trying to remember the children’s rhythm that’s about birds.  Hum, maybe that was black birds in a pie?

Luckily here the ceilings aren’t that high, and after batting themselves into various windows, I rushed around trying to collect stunned birds before they recovered.  If anyone remembers the lobster scene from Annie Hall, it felt a lot like that.  Too bad I didn’t have the video going.  Too bad the neighbors couldn’t hear me talking to the frantic little birds, “Don’t worry, Auntie Stacy is just trying to help you get outside again.  All will be well.  Calm, calm.”  Hum, maybe I was trying to convince myself too.

Right, after they had all been freed, I could sit down with wine and cheese and laugh about it.  The next day I called a mutual friend to check out the chimney.  He looked at it and couldn’t figure out how they’d gotten in.  It looked secure.  He even opened the door and nothing flew out.  We had a good laugh and he went home. 

I’m pretty sure I could still hear his van pulling out of the driveway when the familiar peck, peck at the door came again.  Right, this time I’d be smart and close all the doors to the other rooms and open up the garden door before I opened the Chipper.  You’d have thought that would work.  The first bird, this time a dusty dove, banged into the stained-glass window but then right out the garden door.  The second bird, another less than smart sparrow, headed for the one room I couldn’t shut off…the living room.  Like a pool ball, the little sparrow richocheted from one corner of the room to another until finally knocking him or herself loony.  Now, where did he go?  Oh great, he’s under the couch.  I heard myself say, “Don’t you know I’m trying to help here?!,” like he’d understand.

There, under the sofa, he sat, beak open, panting, and one wing askew.  I felt awful but I also felt like I had to get him out of there fast while there was still time for both of us to recover from this.  I frantically looked for something, anything long enough to reach him under the couch and roll him out to me.  I resorted to rolled up newspaper, of course, pushing him out the side of the sofa away from me.  I dashed over the back to catch him before he got his wits about him and then, now this is funny, reaching the line of French doors leading out to the patio I realized I didn’t have the key to open them.  Yep, there I am talking to the bird, “just be calm, freedom is minutes away,” when it was more like I was talking to myself again.  “Please don’t flutter.  Auntie Stace doesn’t want to hurt you.  She wants you to breathe free and, to borrow a phrase from Mork & Mindy, fly little hatchling.” 

Stumbling for the garden door, sure that I was just as nervous as he was, we both tasted freedom and fly he did.

Monday was comparatively quiet.  Visits with the neighbor, a run out to the hairdresser before my flight today and the usual beach walk to work off my Tim Tam (local cookies) consumption.  Tucking into the steak and kidney pie that the neighbor had dropped off, it seemed like the wind had picked up again and was coming down the Chipper pipe.

Why, why did I ignore my own sign that said, “Open with Care.  There may be birds.”?  Not sure, but yet another sparrow and I made acquaintances.  I didn’t even bother to chase him, waiting instead for him to bump into one too many walls and drop exhausted to the floor.  I set him free and vowed not to open the Chipper ever again – and that includes all my future visits here!

I fly back to San Diego today.  The mutual friend was over again today to help with some garden work.  He laughed about my close encounters, took a look at the chimney, still stymied by how they were getting in and then said it must be my animal magnetism.  We toasted with a cup of tea and off he went on his way.  My airport taxi is minutes away as I type…it’s just…I could swear I hear…no, do not open the Chipper door…

Posted in Stacy's Escapades, Travel, Pet Stories