Yesterday afternoon began as any other – a day in the garden, feeding the birds, watching the chipmunks dunk in and out of the chippie cup, stuffing their mouths with seeds and huge peanuts. After planting my newly acquired swamp milkweed in the front garden, I made my way to the she-shed to store the shovel and gloves, then proceeded to the deck. And that’s when my afternoon was turned upside down. I saw a blue jay on its back. Oh no! How can I help? What should I do?
I knew it couldn’t have been there long, since I was only out in the front yard for maybe a half hour, but that’s long enough. I knew I needed to get it out of the sun, so I carefully scooped him up in my right hand, trying to assess the situation. He’s still alive, his breathing is labored, his eyes are open, but I see no obvious injuries (blood, tears, etc.) Upon further analysis, I notice that while his left eye is blinking, the right eye while open, is non-responsive. He’s in shock and obviously has some neurological damage. He’s most likely hit our picture window. Damn. Even though we have reflective stickers on the window, it still occurs from time to time. You hear that thud and think, oh no, I hope the poor birdie is okay. Most times yes, but on occasion we’ve found dead birds beneath the window.
I sit with him as he’s still on his back, cradled in my hand. I need to find a box and some rags. It’s hot and my hand is sweating. I’m doing him no good. I talk to him, while trying to gently make my way to the garage. “It’s gonna be okay, little one. I’m trying to help. Please stay with me.” He remains helpless while I rummage through and finally find an appropriate bed. I carefully place him within. The biology major in me kicks in. Due to their nature (low body mass) they are more prone to severe dehydration which can lead to a breakdown of physiological processes and consequent death. The house is much cooler and it’s quiet. He needs some solitude. Being outside is only exaggerating his condition. He doesn’t need the added stress.
I notice that both eyes are now blinking. That’s always a good sign. However, his breathing is still exaggerated, due to stress and injury. While he can move his head, the rest of him is still, and his legs are motionless. More than likely, he has internal injuries. It doesn’t look promising, but I remain hopeful. Unfortunately, wildlife vets in our area are non-existent. I’m going to have to do this on my own. Ah, what a day for my husband to be away…
The next several hours are crucial. I look for signs of improvement. Even though giving him water is not often advised, I know his body will shut down without it, so I administer water to him by dipping my fingers into a bowl. The tiniest of drops wet his beak. He responds. He’s thirsty and appears grateful.
I never leave his side even though I’m hungry, so I bring the box into the kitchen while I prepare a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. The nurse needs to stay in tip-top shape. I know it’s going to be a very long day and night. Please make it through the night, I beg.
All the while I’m texting my dear friend, Wendie, explaining my dilemma – no wildlife veterinarians anywhere nearby. She feels awful and tries to aid me in my quest to help my patient, looking up things online, and sending me what she can find. The closest wildlife facility? 160 miles south. Ugh! But it’s great having someone to talk to. Thank you!
Now and then I see involuntary movement. Look, look, his tail feathers are moving. Progress. What works? What doesn’t? His body is trying to heal, but we have such a long road ahead of us. His legs still hang motionless. It’s breaking my heart. If he can’t perch, he’s as good as dead.
Now I post on Mastodon (a social media site), relaying the events of the day. Jody replies and we chat back and forth. Again, it feels wonderful to find a kindred spirit. She also sends me helpful information. We’re all trying our best. She and Wendie are helping me maintain my sanity.
Finally, my hubby gets home, and I fill him in. He agrees that it doesn’t look good, but he reassures me that I’m doing my best. He knows how connected I am to nature, and that I will do everything within my power to make this work. We take him out to the covered front porch, and watch as Beakie (yes, he needed a name) attempts to move head, wings, and tail feathers. More good news, and from time to time I test his lower extremities. Can you wrap your tiny claws around my finger? Yes, for the left, but the right is negligible. This leads me to believe his right side took the brunt of impact when he hit the window. Remember the initial non-blinking right eye? And his right wing stays close to his body. Any movement is slight, and you can tell he’s in pain.
I dip my fingers in water, and this time his beak flies open. He bites down on my finger. It doesn’t hurt and I smile and then laugh. Feeling better are we, my little guy? Another good indication that maybe his condition is improving. I find an eyedropper; he eagerly accepts it.
Oh, and he is pooping. His digestive system is functioning. I hold onto my hope.
At one point as he sits in the box between the two of us, he attempts to get out. Whoa, look at that determination. However, I don’t want him to injure himself any further, so I move his towels on the porch, and carefully place him on top. This gives him room to stretch, without the chance of knocking into the sides of the cardboard container. This seems to calm him down, and eventually we see his eyes getting heavy – the little guy has had the roughest day of his life and needs some sleep. Lee is off to find a bigger bed, and once procured, I place a few sunflower seeds, along with a tiny bowl of water, and move him into the master bedroom. He will remain at my bedside throughout the night. I need to be within earshot of this little blue bundle of feathers. He falls asleep immediately, and I check on him periodically.
He never sees the light of day. His injuries were too severe. I break down in tears. Hubby hugs me. “You did your best, hun”, and I shake my head in agreement. I bury Beakie next to the tall bamboo-like milkweed, along with some sunflower seeds. How appropriate I think. I planted this to help the monarch butterflies, minutes before I found you, and now you will nourish the cocoons that will hang here one day.
While your backyard friends continued in flight, fed from birdfeeders, fluffed their feathers and splashed in the birdbaths, you literally flew into and out of my life. Soar on, my feathered friend. I’ll always cherish you, Beakie.
