My back yard is the size of a postage stamp. The soil is bad. The shade vs. light ratios are difficult. I have two black thumbs and I’m water-stingy. The neighbors are armpit close. Nearby, major streets hum with traffic. But my backyard is my plain-Jane oasis. One simple bird feeder and a watering station attract a few birds. During the season, visiting hummingbirds bring me endless delight. At 16, my cat can no longer leap fences so the backyard makes for a safe outdoor retreat for all of us.
Ignorance is bliss. Until reality bangs you on the head. My growing interest in birds made me painfully aware of the risks of communal bird feeders. The ASPCA recommends:
- Clean hanging feeders every two weeks or more.
- Rake up spilled seeds, hulls, and feces around the feeders at least once a week. Move heavily used feeders to new locations periodically, so the ground has a chance to dry out.
I have not followed this protocol. I have watched that feeder and chastised myself for not cleaning it often enough . . . or at all.
Last fall I noticed a particular common sparrow had claimed my backyard as home. I noticed because this bird looked particularly scruffy. As time went on, I noted how lethargic it seemed. While other birds flushed quickly, this little bird just sat there on the feeder. Its feathers were scruffy, particularly around the head, the eyes—the part of the bird that interacts most frequently with my not-so-clean feeder.
The bird is diseased! Oh the agony. I assiduously cleaned the feeder. But the damage was done. Every time this sparrow poked its sick head into the feeder it shared bacteria with other birds. I stopped refilling the feeder. The bird, I will call it Sally, grew more lethargic. Other birds grew more scarce. But Sally hung on. Hung onto the rung of the bird feeder like a barnacle.
It was winter. Cold. I felt guilty for abandoning the other birds who thought they’d located a trusty food source. But my food source was not trustworthy. Surely, the next cold snap would sap Sally’s strength. But she hung in there. Spring crept in. The cat wanted to go out, but I didn’t want her to take advantage of Sally’s weakened condition. I didn’t want Sally sharing her disease with the cat! The cat yowled her disapproval. Meanwhile Sally’s condition deteriorated. I was convinced she was blind. Eventually she couldn’t even fly up to the feeder but hung out on the ground pecking at the refuse. My back yard was her hospice.
But death eluded Sally. She kept hanging out. Distraught by misgivings, I threw a tablespoon of fresh seed on the ground for Sally. Worried that she needed water, I spilled water onto the concrete crack near her.
What the hell am I doing? This is prolonging the inevitable! Stop!
~~~
It is the middle of April. Last night was cold and rainy. Surely Sally is gone.
Nooooo. There is Sally, pecking, pecking, living, just barely living. I cannot put out fresh bird seed. I cannot put out the hummingbird feeders. I cannot let the yowling cat out into the sunshine because sick Sally survives.
~~~
I am traumatized.
Sally sits in a patch of sun on the walkway. She survived another damned night!
I get my shovel out of the garage. Sally doesn’t even flinch as I walk right past her on the way to the garage.
I raise the shovel over my head and slam it down on the grass to gauge the trajectory and power needed to flatten a sick bird.
I whimper and turn 45° to the right, raise the shovel over my head, cry, shut my eyes, SLAM down the shovel.
Alarmed Sally flutters erratically up, toward the garbage bins. Settles on the fence railing, shuddering in dismay. I shriek even louder.
Sally huddles on the fence rail in the corner of the fence. Behead it, I think!
Again, I miss the mark. Sally falls to the ground between fence and garbage can, utterly stunned.
Aaachhh! I raise the shovel again, this time with the sharp side pointed down and smash Sally till she is unrecognizable. Scoop her conveniently into the waiting garbage bin and slam the lid.
Open lid . . . is she really dead or flopping around in there, a headless, bloody mess?
Sally is dead.
I am devastated.
~~~
An hour later the fence has been hosed, sterilized with vinegar, the feeder soaked in vinegar, the water pan hosed and soaked with vinegar and splashed with peroxide. Feeder drying in the sun.
Cat sitting across my shoulder, purring and dreaming of reclaiming her back yard.
Dog forgive, for I have sinned.
OK, Rangewriter — I get delightful highs and/or heart felt lows from most every one of your posts. But this one brought an open chuckle at the woes of caring for critters! A joy and a tear. Lovely, lovely, lovely!
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Oh no, I thought you were going to fire me for my brutality to living things! Thanks for not!
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Oh Linda you have such a dear soul. While driving to work it sounded like my daughter hit a bird. On my drive back I went the same road to find the bird – fortunately it had survived or the sound was bark and not a bird.
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We will hope it was bark. Not a nice way to begin the day, I’m sure.
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Oh what a touching, raw, story. I feel for you. Your only “sin” was in trying to end the suffering of one tiny bird. Cut yourself some slack and put out the bird feeders. Hugs, Sybil
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Thanks, Sybil. Feeders are out. I keep asking myself if the filling I lost on Friday which, will require very expensive follow-up treatment, is my penance. 😦
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Walking the streets of London early one Sunday morning many years ago, a woman pointed out a pigeon to me. Lying injured on the road it looked as though it had received a glancing blow from a passing vehicle. After examining it I realised nothing could be done so I smashed its head with a brick. I hate having to do things like that. The woman looked at me as though I had murdered the poor creature, so I asked her what she had expected me to do, as it was quite certain a vet wouldn’t come out to treat it early on a Sunday morning. And, as she plainly wasn’t going to take it in, the kindest thing to do under the circumstances would be to put it out of its misery as swiftly as possible. To get to the point, she succeeded in making me feel far worse about myself than the actual killing had. So, I really do know how you feel, Linda.
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Thanks Bryan. Perhaps the silly woman thought you had god power and could, by lying hands on, fix the broken bird. If only…!
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I empathize. A few years ago we had a mouse problem. I had to lay down glue straps and unfortunately I caught a mouse.
I have never felt more conflicted about taking the life of that poor little mouse even though I knew that letting it and the rest of its mouse community live would expose me and my family to disease.
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Tough decisions. We try to live and let live, but sometimes it isn’t in the cards. I do eat meat and I eat wild game, taken by friends who are serious (and by that I mean, careful, considerate, and respectful} hunters so I have no business being so squeamish about taking a life…but I am.
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I am almost vegan but I do like to get a roasted free range chicken from Safeway every now and again.
I’m not vegan because of my politics; I’m vegan because it makes managing my weight easier.
I’ve never hunted. I did used to go fishing with my Grandfather but I hated baiting the hook and the one time I did catch a fish I cried. LOL…
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Oh I get that about baiting the hook…and then the fish…What killed me (no pun intended) about fishing was that this old fisherman that took us out with him insisted on leaving the poor live fish gasping in his fishing basket while he fished out his limit. I went crabbing once and its the same thing. The pile the crabs in a cooler and they crawl all over each other trying to find the ocean. Heartbreaking. I grew up on a ranch, so I was always clear about the partnership we had with livestock. That partnership does not include cruelty. Have you read Temple Grandin? I suspect you’d love her books. An amazing woman.
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I remember that we caught a fish and I was so upset that I insisted that my Grandmother place it in a shrimp serving plate some water in it to bring it back to life. I don’t know why I thought the plate would bring the fish back to life but my Grandmother kept that fish on top of her refrigerator until she could no longer bear the stench. LOL…I’ve not read Temple Grandin; I will look her up. Thank you!
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That is one dedicated Grandmother!
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She really loved me; and I adored her…:)
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Sometimes we have to make those hard decisions. And sometimes enough is enough. Mercy isn’t letting suffering keeping going. But as hard as it is to end, sometimes that is the best. I feel with you, and hope I would have done the same.
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Thank you kindly for your support, Otto.
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While I am not a big fan of birds and don’t want them pooping in my yard, I don’t think I could have done what you did. I’m just a big wimp.
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Yeah. Understood. It was my wimpihood that made things so much more complicated than they should have been. Fortunately I think my neighbors were all at work so they didn’t hear me yelping, screeching, gasping, and weeping.
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That’s one sad story indeed. Sometimes, taking a decision is so difficult when all the choices we have got are the bad ones.
I loved your photos, though. Good to see you, Linda! I hope you get healthy and happy birds chirping in your backyard. 🙂
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Oh Nandini, thank you. You totally get it. I can tell from your comforting words. Thank you for that. I haven’t seen the new batch of birds at the feeder yet, but I’m sure they will arrive. Meanwhile, my cat, who at 16, is no threat to healthy birds, is loving our backyard. Bless you for being you!
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I have had to do this as well. Birds have flown into our closed windows and knocked themselves senseless. Some fly away as others linger to an expected death. It is not fun.
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I was horrified most, perhaps, by my own ineptitude.
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Obviously I’m too kindhearted because I once rescued a clearly damaged or diseased squirrel who was hanging out at my bird/squirrel feeder. My vet took care of it (whatever that meant) without cost to me because she is kindhearted, too.
Two years ago I had a tiny little squirrel discover the feeder (which is a hanging kind of screened basket). She ate to her heart’s content, then slept on top of the sunflower seeds. Repeat. Whenever other squirrels showed up, she scrambled up the tree and waited until they left. This continued for a long time. Then either she grew up or disappeared some other way. I have photos of her sweet, happy, sated little face and I can still visualize that.
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My introduction to the Boise veterinary community was induced when my big feline hunter, at the time, tangled with a squirrel. I looked out the window to see the poor victim comatose on the front lawn. Grabbed a towel and ran out there to rescue said squirrel. Brought it in and placed it in my lap, head toward the floor. (That’s what you do to victims of shock, right?) It came to, but then I noticed it had wonky eyes. I was dressed to go somewhere and I was late, but I wrapped the squirrel tightly in the towel and headed for the nearest vet clinic on Overland Rd. Got there just before closing and was told there was no hope for poor squirrel. “We can put it down for you for $45.”
At that time $45 seemed more like $200 today. I sputtered in shock and got out my checkbook. I spent the next 10 years chastising myself for trying to save the squirrel in the first place.
Regarding this bird, for months I asked myself, what would you want someone to do for YOU? I do NOT want to be kept alive for the sake of being alive. I’d take the shovel any day. I am decidedly inept when it comes to delivering mercy, though.
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