Avoid flying into windows

I have a fountain in my front yard that all kinds of birds like to fly to and flap around in, cool off, have a few sips. One bad ass hawk occasionally flies in and perches at the top where the water is pumped up, to cool his talons. All the other birds clear out when he comes around.

On summer mornings before the heat sets in, I open the front door and leave it open. My small dog Ricky likes to sit on the carpet square inside the front door and soak up the morning sun. After he gets enough power sunbathing, he ambles back into the house to take a nap. Eventually I’ll shut the front door.

The other morning I was about to leave for an appointment when I heard what sounded like one of my dog’s squeaky toys. Ricky’s a little older, and doesn’t play with his toys much anymore. I checked and he looked up from his bed, not a toy near him. The squeaking continued, and came from near the front door. I looked up to one of the high windows above the door in the entry. I saw a hummingbird vainly trying to fly away, bumping into the second floor window. His usual blurred high RPM wing flaps had slowed to a flutter, and his occasional squeaks were his panic button. He apparently didn’t get why he could see the trees off in the distance, but couldn’t fly to them. In his brain, an invisible wall blocking his flight, did not compute.

The little guy was exhausted from bumping into the window and settled onto the sill.

I wanted to get him out of the house quickly because I had to leave. I found a dust mop with only a pivoting plastic slat on the end. I opened the front door to show the tiny bird the path to freedom and poked the flopping end of the mop up to the sill. That made him fly again, but he headed up against the second floor ceiling. He didn’t notice the open door a few feet below him.

“Look down, c’mon, the door’s down here!” I called up to the scared little bird, as if he could understand English.

He fluttered around in confusion and soon lost power. He dropped slowly until he settled on a high flat spot, the shoulder of the chimney along the stairwell.

But even when I went up the stairs next to the square little ledge, I still wasn’t tall enough to see onto it. I tried more blind herding with the mop, but it didn’t work.

Then I realized I needed to leave soon for my appointment. I wrangled a barstool under the shelf and got on it. Its swiveling seat made it tricky to stand on. And when I managed to straighten up on it I still wasn’t tall enough to see onto the sill. Grrrrrr! What the hell?

I needed a ladder. I didn’t want to leave the bird where he was. He could die there or, somewhere else in the house, after exhausting himself trying to get outside. I didn’t want to come home to a poor dead bird I could have saved.

So I stepped quickly to the garage, pulled out a stepladder and set it up under the shelf.

I climbed it and this time, I was high enough to see the shelf and the tired, scared little hummingbird, wide-eyed, resting. He was propped up against the wall, and eyed me with no small amount of suspicion. I moved my right hand slowly toward him and gently put my fingers around him, gathering him in my palm. He didn’t struggle.

At this point, he probably thought he was a goner, in the hands of Godzilla, about to be eaten. But he was too tired to resist.

I got down off the ladder with him cupped in my hand and walked out the front door. I extended my arm and opened up my hand, and the hummingbird knew what to do. The little guy saw the open sky and trees. He flapped his wings and flew up and away. No window stopped him this time. In a flash, he was gone.

Relieved, I rushed off to my appointment.

Later, I told the story to friends, and one retold it to a co-worker.

“Did he notice the metaphor?” the friend asked about me.

Hmm, yes. Metaphor? Analogy? Life lesson? Deep thought provoker?

I hadn’t thought about it. It just happened and was over.

When I was a kid fishing on rocks along Lake Tahoe, I had a similar free-the-trapped-wildlife experience. And it gave me a great feeling. To this day, it’s still one of my most spirit lifting memories.

I caught a small trout that I didn’t want to kill and fry up. My Dad, as was his way, listened and understood. We kept the fish alive over night in the cold-water filled bathtub. The next day, my Dad drove me and the fish – he was in a water filled bucket -- back to our fishing spot. I stood on the rocks at water’s edge and poured the fish out of the bucket and into the lake. I watched the fish splash into the glassy blue deep water and flash like lightening into his vast world of Lake Tahoe. I can’t ever remember feeling more connected with the universe.

So I pondered, the whole free the hummingbird episode. Like the fish story, it did have the drama of lost freedom we all face at one time or another: freedom lost to unseen traps, fear, both real and imagined, and the crapshoot of regaining lost freedom.

So what if the hummingbird could squeak English to give his account of his scary adventure, one of many that humans commonly endure in their lives?

I imagine he’d say something like this:

Hummingbird: “Hey, I was trapped. I was tired. I needed help. And somehow I got out.”

Me: “So did you think it was a hopeless situation?”

H: “Pretty much.”

Me: “Get a life lesson out of it?”

H: “Oh yeah. Never fly through an open doorway to a building. You might not make it out. I was lucky, I got out. But it was only because of help.”

Me: “Anything else?”

H: “You know those things that block you, but you can’t see them? What are they called?”

Me: “You mean windows?”

H: “Is that what they’re called?”

Me: “Yes, windows.”

H: “Well, what is the deal with them?”

Me: “I know what you mean. It’s a bad feeling constantly running into something you can’t see.”

H: “No, not fun at all.”

Me: “But at least you learned something to pass onto your friends. Don’t try to fly through a window. Only bad things can happen.”

H: Yes, very true. But that doesn’t help if you can’t see them. By the way, thanks for setting me free.”

Me: “No problem, happy to do it. By the way, your English is impeccable. Why didn’t you listen when I told you to fly out the door?”

H: “I was freaked out. The only thing I heard was my bird brain yelling ‘Get out! Get out!’ or, ‘Squeak! Squeak!’”

Me: “Yes, I heard that. Well, stay free buddy.”

H: “Will do. Hey, gotta fly. There are some flowers I need to check out.”

So I guess there are messages in this little caper. For us humans, it might translate roughly to: If you find yourself banging into a wall, stop. There’s surely another a way around it.

Oh, and if you can free any trapped wildlife you encounter, figure out a way to set them free. That’s a good one to remember. Even if you’re in a hurry, it will definitely make your day.

Mark Eric Larson has written two books of essays, "The NERVE...of Some People's Kids," and "Don't Force it, Get a Bigger Hammer. To read, visit: 
http://www.scribd.com/Mark%20Eric%20Larson/shelf