Summer Is Coming. Don’t Forget the Animals

This little bird is sitting on the wicker chair outside my patio door staring at me as though it is trying to make a decision. Perhaps we both are. I am sitting inside with the door open, pretending I am not watching it every second. The mosquitoes are pouring in now, humming around my head and biting my ankles, but I cannot bring myself to close the door. I am afraid if I look away, even for a moment, something will happen. A cat. A bigger bird.
And yet I am equally afraid it will leave.
Strange, how quickly we bond.
A few weeks ago, there were two of them. Tiny creatures just lying in a basement gutter, featherless and trembling, eyes still closed, their bodies so small they barely seemed possible. One did not survive. To this day, I suspect we fed it to death with our panic and overenthusiastic care.
The other lived. Now this tiny bird rules the house like a moody teenager with wings.
I have learned more from this creature than I expected. Birds, it turns out, have enormous personalities. This one despises egg with theatrical outrage. The first time I offered it a carefully mashed spoonful, it spat it out in disgust and turned its head away from me as though deeply offended by my lack of culinary awareness. And still refuses any.
It also knows exactly when bedtime is approaching. A few minutes before I try to settle it into its little box, it suddenly becomes energetic and rebellious, flying across the room like a child refusing sleep.
Yes, it can fly now. That should make me happy.
But freedom is complicated when something still depends on your hands to eat. It will only eat if I hand-feed it carefully, patiently, bit by bit.
So every day I wonder if it is ready for the world, or if the world is ready for something so trusting.
Some days it squawks endlessly from dawn until sunset. Other days it sits quietly observing life with solemn little eyes while systematically destroying the cleanliness of my home. There are damp patches everywhere now. The air smells permanently of Dettol and Clorox.
This bird has become, in every sense, a baby.
And somewhere in the middle of disinfecting floors and arguing with a bird about eggs, I realised how quickly the heart rearranges itself around small living things.
Soon, I know, this bird will leave. One morning the wicker chair will be empty and the patio silent except for ordinary wind. And I will miss the chaos terribly.
But perhaps that is the purpose of these fleeting little connections. To remind us that gentleness still matters.
As the hotter months approach, please leave water outside if you can. A shallow bowl on a wall or windowsill may become life itself to something small and thirsty.
And if a strange little bird lands in your garden one day, be gentle.
You may discover it came carrying something for you too.