Bryn and I had a feathery adventure in the secret garden.
A fat fledgling robin, speckled breast sprouting stray bits of fluffy remnant down, landed unsteadily on the brick garden walk right in front of us. Its loud, inquisitive cheeps startled Bryn. She stood abruptly, poised to pounce. I gave sharp commands: sit! Stay! My baffled dog shot me an incredulous look, but minded. Her brown eyes, though, bored into the short-tailed, naïve birdling facing us, who seemed oblivious to the danger we represented. Instead, it fired off questions. ‘Who are you? What are you? Do you eat big worms?’ while its frantic parents flew back and forth just overhead, begging their youngster to ‘Fly! Fly! Or die!’
Ignoring them the fascinated robinette studied us, and especially Bryn. ‘Are you my mother?’ It hopped closer. The parents screamed ‘NO!’ Our hair ruffled from the wind they created rocketing back and forth past our heads, calling, calling.
Bryn’s back arched and she trembled, but stayed in the ‘sit’ position, trying to keep track of flight paths and baby- squawks at the same time.
For many minutes the three of us observed one another; then we two ‘monsters’ backed away. The fearless little featherhead followed us, still cheeping incessant questions. I sensed Bryn’s self-control wouldn’t last another minute, so, with difficulty, I dragged my saucer-eyed dog into the house to prevent disaster.
I returned to sit on the walk in front of birdie, who hadn’t budged. We traded mystified, cheerful cheeps, but the parents weren’t reassured.
Bryn’s black nose mashed the kitchen window as she stared, dumbfounded by my inaction. ‘Grab! Grab!’ she mentally shouted.
Hmmm…Could I reach out and touch it? I extended my arm slowly, but the fledgling, finally alarmed, hopped and flapped along the walk, setting up for an awkward departure. I realized that this was probably its first gravity-defying takeoff, from down to up, requiring much more worm-power than simply stepping off its nest into space.
Inexperienced wings gathered air; laboriously the youngster rose, carving out an erratic flight path that barely missed the fence. Its relieved parents managed to shepherd it to the big maple tree, scolding all the while. ‘You. Must. Listen!
Stay close to birds, high trees and big sky! Never stay close to low, bird-eating monsters!’
I smiled ruefully. Parents everywhere complain that their adventuresome children often dismiss those who try to pass on invaluable skills they’ve learned from Wisdom, and its rougher companion, Experience.
If our robinette is lucky, though, that ancient duo’s benefits will be more fully appreciated later…
A fat fledgling robin, speckled breast sprouting stray bits of fluffy remnant down, landed unsteadily on the brick garden walk right in front of us. Its loud, inquisitive cheeps startled Bryn. She stood abruptly, poised to pounce. I gave sharp commands: sit! Stay! My baffled dog shot me an incredulous look, but minded. Her brown eyes, though, bored into the short-tailed, naïve birdling facing us, who seemed oblivious to the danger we represented. Instead, it fired off questions. ‘Who are you? What are you? Do you eat big worms?’ while its frantic parents flew back and forth just overhead, begging their youngster to ‘Fly! Fly! Or die!’
Ignoring them the fascinated robinette studied us, and especially Bryn. ‘Are you my mother?’ It hopped closer. The parents screamed ‘NO!’ Our hair ruffled from the wind they created rocketing back and forth past our heads, calling, calling.
Bryn’s back arched and she trembled, but stayed in the ‘sit’ position, trying to keep track of flight paths and baby- squawks at the same time.
For many minutes the three of us observed one another; then we two ‘monsters’ backed away. The fearless little featherhead followed us, still cheeping incessant questions. I sensed Bryn’s self-control wouldn’t last another minute, so, with difficulty, I dragged my saucer-eyed dog into the house to prevent disaster.
I returned to sit on the walk in front of birdie, who hadn’t budged. We traded mystified, cheerful cheeps, but the parents weren’t reassured.
Bryn’s black nose mashed the kitchen window as she stared, dumbfounded by my inaction. ‘Grab! Grab!’ she mentally shouted.
Hmmm…Could I reach out and touch it? I extended my arm slowly, but the fledgling, finally alarmed, hopped and flapped along the walk, setting up for an awkward departure. I realized that this was probably its first gravity-defying takeoff, from down to up, requiring much more worm-power than simply stepping off its nest into space.
Inexperienced wings gathered air; laboriously the youngster rose, carving out an erratic flight path that barely missed the fence. Its relieved parents managed to shepherd it to the big maple tree, scolding all the while. ‘You. Must. Listen!
Stay close to birds, high trees and big sky! Never stay close to low, bird-eating monsters!’
I smiled ruefully. Parents everywhere complain that their adventuresome children often dismiss those who try to pass on invaluable skills they’ve learned from Wisdom, and its rougher companion, Experience.
If our robinette is lucky, though, that ancient duo’s benefits will be more fully appreciated later…