CHAPTER 27
Birdie listened as David picked up the phone early Thursday morning. “Are you sure it can’t fly? And there are no other fledglings around . . . or parents?” He nodded, listening. “Do you think it’s injured?” More nodding. “Where did you say you found it? Mm-hmm . . . Okay, well, if you’d like to bring it over, we’ll be here.” Birdie raised her eyebrows and continued to listen as he gave directions to their house. For months they’d been trying to cut back on the number of orphaned and injured birds they took in, and the last two weeks had been the first time ever that they hadn’t had a little flock of birds in their small aviary barn and fenced-in sanctuary.
David hung up the phone and saw her eyeing him. He smiled. “How could I say no? She was very upset.”
“The only way we’re going to be able to stop people from calling is if we put a note on the website that says we’re not taking in any birds at this time.”
“Do you really want to stop helping?” David asked.
“Well, no, but you have to admit, the last couple of weeks without any responsibilities have been kind of nice.”
“I don’t know. I’ve kind of missed having some little creatures to look after,” David said, smiling.
“What kind of bird is it?”
“She wasn’t sure—she thought it might be a ruffed grouse or a quail.”
Birdie sighed. “Is it injured?”
“She said it was flopping around next to the road so it might’ve been hit, but it wasn’t bleeding.”
The phone rang again, halting their conversation, and David answered it. “Yes, this is he.” He nodded. “Are you sure its parents aren’t around? No other fledglings? That’s odd . . . they don’t usually abandon their young.... Of course . . . where are you? Let’s see . . . Mashpee . . .” He started to give directions again, and as Birdie poured a cup of coffee, she shook her head. She sat down, waiting for him to finish, and when he finally hung up, he was smiling like a boy on Christmas morning. “He thinks it’s a baby barred!”
“Wonderful!” Birdie said, shaking her head. She knew how thrilled David would be if it really was an orphaned barred owl, she also knew how much two baby birds would tie them down.
“It’s not like we have anything pressing going on,” David said, pouring a cup of coffee and sitting across from her. He looked at the pile of birthday presents still sitting on the table. “How come you’re not using your new mug?” he asked, holding up the Susan Boynton mug.
“I will,” Birdie said, smiling.
“Haven’t you already read this?” he asked, leafing through That Quail, Robert.
“Years ago. Have you?”
“I don’t remember.”
“You’d remember.”
“Maybe I’ll read it next.”
“You should, because we might have our own Robert heading our way right now.”
“We might. That would be fun.”
Birdie smiled. It would be.
Twenty minutes later, a young woman slowed down in front of the house, obviously trying to decide whether she was in the right place, and then pulled into the driveway. Bailey scrambled to her feet, sounding the alarm, and as the woman got out, carrying a cardboard box, David and Birdie both went out to greet her. David carried the box onto the porch and carefully opened it. A small bird blinked at him from where it sat huddled in the corner of a bird poop–covered towel. “What do you think it is?” she asked.
David smiled. “It’s a ruffed grouse chick,” he said, picking it up and gently examining it. “And its wing is injured.” He saw the concern on the woman’s face. “But not beyond repair,” he assured. “I’m sure we can help her.”
The woman sighed and smiled. “Good. I didn’t know what to do. I was on my way to work and I saw it by the side of the road and I couldn’t just leave it.”
Birdie nodded. “Would you like to leave your number and we’ll keep you posted?”
“Yes, I’d love to,” the woman replied.
Birdie went inside to get a piece of paper and a pen, and the woman wrote down her name and number. After she left, Birdie looked at the paper and smiled—she didn’t think anyone was named Martha anymore.
David was in the barn with the little injured grouse when a man pulled into the yard and got out of his SUV with another cardboard box. David opened it, peered inside, and a juvenile barred owl blinked at him and flapped its wings in alarm. David smiled. “It’s okay, missy. We’re not going to hurt you.” He closed the box and had the man write his name and number on top of the box. “When she’s a little further along, she should be released where you found her.”
The man nodded.
“Are you sure her parents weren’t around?”
“I’m pretty sure, but I can’t be positive,” he answered, sounding a little less certain than he had on the phone. “I didn’t want anything to happen to her. . . .”
David nodded. “Well, I bet she’ll be ready to be on her own in a week or so. I’ll give you a call and you can meet me.”
“That sounds good. Thank you,” the man said, extending his hand.
David shook it and the man turned and hurried back to his car. As David watched him go, he shook his head. He was willing to bet that at least half the birds they took in weren’t truly orphaned. He was certain that most had parents nearby watching anxiously as well-meaning humans scooped their babies into cardboard boxes and whisked them away to parts unknown. He often wondered how helpless and worried the parents must feel. Caring for young birds was the closest experience he’d ever had to parenting, so he could only imagine how difficult it was for a human to raise and release their offspring.
“Is it a barred?” Birdie asked, coming up behind him.
“It is,” he said, half-smiling, “but I bet she wasn’t really an orphan.”
Birdie nodded and peered into the box. “Don’t worry, little girl. We’ll get you home.”