SuperWeed

Last weekend, I said goodbye to a beloved bird whom I had taken to a parrot sanctuary. This weekend, the situation is reversed.

Yes, there’s a new chick in town and his name is Yoshi.

Here’s how it happened: A couple found a discarded egg — probably a research reject — in the process of hatching. They brought the egg home and did what they could to help the hatching along. They were very surprised when the bird who emerged was a chicken. Wanting to do all that they could for the little bird, they set him up under a light and went out to buy an absurdly large 50 pound sack of medicated chick starter feed.

For the next week, they cared for the chick incessantly, soon learning that newly hatched chicks — for obvious evolutionary reasons — can’t stand to be alone. He would cry and cry whenever he lost sight of them. They learned to soothe him by holding him in their hands and, as he gained his equilibrium, he learned to perch on their shoulders. They grew quite attached to the little guy and even talked to their landlord about maybe keeping him but had to accept that a city apartment was no place for a bird who might turn out to be a crowing rooster.

So, yesterday afternoon, they made the three hour drive from Baltimore to the Eastern Shore Sanctuary. Luckily for everybody, two chicks not much older — “poultry science” research rejects whom a student was allowed to rescue — were already here, so I didn’t have to scramble to find a surrogate sibling or parent to keep the chick company. (I’ll tell you about my adventures in finding company for crying chicks, including Pluto the self-hatched chick, another day.)

After getting Yoshi settled in with his new friends, who accepted him immediately, the couple took a look around the sanctuary, obviously reluctant to leave. Then the young man asked, somewhat sheepishly, if it might be possible to get a picture of them with the chick. As he passed me the camera, I noticed that the woman was starting to cry. “We’re going to come back and see him!” she said. I believed her.

What is it about chickens that can tug at our hearts like an undertow even though mammals and birds are such different kinds of animals? I still remember the long night after the afternoon we found the chicken who would turn out to be the founder of our sanctuary. We had settled her into a corner of the garage blocked off with baby gates and filled with bedding. I was so worried about her that I couldn’t sleep. All night long, I killed time online while she hovered in the back of my mind. Everytime I let the dogs in or out of the back yard, I looked toward the garage, feeling the frigid air against my skin and hoping that her feathers were keeping her warm.

Finally, I convinced myself that the slight lightening in the eastern sky was close enough to daybreak to justify letting the chicken out of her makeshift coop. I walked, then found myself running like a child, toward the garage. Heaving open the heavy wooden door, I was relieved to see the sleepy chicken, who must have been surprised to see me. Nonetheless, she calmly stepped outside and began scratching at the ground beneath the dried leaves at the base of the building as if she had lived here, rather than in a fetid shed with thousands of other motherless birds, all her life.

Scratch-scratch-look, scratch-scratch-look. I had never seen such a thing! Backing away slowly so as not to disturb her, I tossed cracked corn and sunflower seeds in my wake. Later I looked out to see her — a huge, white, ungainly bird — pecking at the feed surrounded by sleek black grackles.

Where was I? Oh, yeah: Feelings. Well, I learned that her comb and wattle might get frostbite in temperatures below 20 farenheit so we started bringing her into the house on the colder nights. The only place she would be safe from the dogs and cats was the bathroom, so we filled the tub with wood shavings as bedding for her on those nights. Since we had to use the bathroom too, that set-up brought us into much more intimate contact with her. I loved to sit on the floor by the tub, just being near her. Somehow, she looked like my grandmother. I noticed that her long toes were segmented just like our fingers and that her foot was padded like the palms of our hands.

We were relatives! I felt childishly lucky to have made that discovery. I couldn’t stop talking about it. I still can’t get over it. If you’ve ever heard me tell the story of the origins of the sanctuary, you’ve probably heard me stutter and sputter about how bird’s feet and our hands prove we’re related.

Yesterday evening, the tears of Yoshi’s rescuer reminded me of how much more careful I’ve become with my heart, especially when it comes to these vulnerable “broiler” chickens who, on a hot day like today, can die of a heat-induced heart attack (as that first chicken eventually did) without warning. I have to work hard to remain open-hearted. Sometimes I feel bad about that, about having to work at love, even though I know it’s a natural reaction to the accumulated grief. I’ll always be grateful to the parrot we called Greenbird for provoking my heart to reach out incautiously, teaching me that I still have the capacity to love unreservedly.

July 7th, 2007 | Category: Animals, Birds, Sanctuary | Subscribe to comments | Leave a comment | Trackback URL