May 1, 2016.
Story-A-Day May.
Bird Wars
C 5/2016
by MK
Story-A-Day May.
Bird Wars
This morning I saw a sparrow being attacked by a pack of crows. It was an
unfair fight. The sparrow kept struggling up, struggling to stand his ground,
while the crows kept swooping in to pick and bitch at him, one & two at a
time. He didn't really try to defend himself, and I'd say he was as shocked as
I was. His posture & movements seemed to say, You can't mean to do this,
can you? He was as baffled as I was, I'm sure.
I'd never seen a skirmish like this
between the birds of the neighborhood. Sure, if there was food in the street (a
rare happening, as we have regular weekly street cleaners here in my suburban
village) there might be a couple of birds that tried to steal it from each
other, though never as violently. But there was no dropped food or any other
obvious cause for the conflict I witnessed.
It's hard to imagine what could drive a half dozen or more big crows to
beat up a little sparrow on a sunny Sunday morning. They were so cruel to him,
a robin actually came over to help, strafing the crows as they hit the poor
little guy, then taking care to fly away fast after each run. He was still taking a chance, and he knew it,
but he couldn't do much against so many, brave as he was.
My ragamuffin cat & I watched
from the window, horrified and fascinated (it all happened very quickly) and
then suddenly the sparrow was down, and not getting up. On his back, eyes closed
as far as I could tell, and not moving.
His attackers noticed, too. After a last peck at his silent form, the
whole gang of crows took off, while I ran to find a box and a small towel. I
intended to try to revive the bird, if possible, or at least keep him safe
& warm in his last moments. I hoped
it wouldn't come to that.
In a minute I had dressed &
found what I needed. I hurried out to do what I could, wishing I had been fast
enough to rescue the sparrow before he got seriously hurt. It was early, not
yet 7am, and I had been barely awake when the birdfight began; I'd only come
out to the front window to say Good Morning to the cat before making some
coffee. Now I was going to the front lines to tend the wounded, sans my daily
caffeine ration.
Outside it was cool, and quiet, now
the combatants had fled the scene. My hands were trembling as I walked across
the street to where the sparrow had fallen-- I was not simpatico with birds,
generally. I found them interesting, but they found me scary, probably because
I spent a lot of time with cats, and had the smell of cat fur on me. Thus I had
some trepidation about getting the bird into the box, if it was still alive,
but that didn't matter. He needed help, and I was the only witness able to
respond.
When I reached the battleground, I
was surprised: the downed sparrow had gone, whether flown away or carried off,
I couldn't tell. Not a trace of discord remained, & there was nothing to
show what had occurred moments earlier-- not a spot of blood nor a dropped
feather. I hunted around to be sure the poor creature hadn't merely crawled
under a bush to die, but no; he was gone, the brave robin was gone, and all was
now as peaceful as a spring Sunday ought to be. I was relieved, but a touch
worried over the circumstance of the sparrow's disappearance, and wishing I had
been awake enough to do more. I tried to take comfort from a thought that the bird
had only been stunned, then recovered.
Soon my neighbors would wake and
begin their weekend rituals of yard work & dog-walking. The sun would warm
up our lawns, and my cat would shift his attention to the back window to watch
the usual rabbit action on display there. No one would know about the strange
little war I'd been privy to, or my ineffectual attempt to participate. I
slipped into my morning routine again without much effort, but as I sipped
fresh coffee and watched my cat watching the backyard, I wondered, over &
over: what was the war about between the crows & sparrow?
C 5/2016
by MK
