Country 911

I’ve been settling in to the sad fact that we don’t have another camportunity until late June. For a retired person, I seem to have an awful lot of commitments. So, as I shuffled around the house today I was thinking that today’s big news was going to be the big shaggy blue heads on my asters–bought from the “these are about dead” rack at Lowe’s last year–or maybe the fact that one of my double hollyhocks had reseeded itself and is ready to burst into bloom.

I’m a big fan of these double hollyhocks. Why is it that these old favorites are so hard to find these days?

They look purple in this photo, but these asters are a vibrant blue.

Around 3, finally accepting that I’d accomplished little that was on the agenda for today, I decided to load up the dogs for a Trader Joe’s run. The dogs were poised to launch from the front steps when I spotted it: a little gray oval just to the right of the door mat. It looked almost like a remote control, but then I realized it seemed to have feet. . .or teeth. . .or something. An abandoned Beanie Baby? Another vole gift from the cat? I got the dogs to lie down and leaned in closer…and it turned out to be a tiny hummingbird.

Evidently he had flown into our front door and knocked himself out. Was he dead, or just stunned?Gently, I picked him up and he began to move his tiny feet and try to stretch his wings. I set him on the porch railing to see if he would rally.

It looked as though he had something wrapped around his beak, so I zoomed in for a closer look.

I wiped his beak and he opened and closed it, then stretched his wings. I was encouraged. I quickly dialed up a hummingbird Web site and got instructions for preserving the bird. Did you know that it’s illegal to keep a hummingbird in captivity? I was a little paranoid about trying to get this guy back on his feet, er, wings. Could the neighbors see me handling this tiny pile of feathers?

The instructions were to get a shoebox, line it with a soft cloth, put the hummer in there and try to get it to drink a little nectar. We didn’t have any shoeboxes, but the empty 12-pack of Sierra Nevada made an ideal little palace. I lined it with an old cloth diaper and put in an 8 oz hummingbird feeder I just happened to have in the fridge. When I picked up the little guy to put him on the feeder, he clung to my fingers with his teeny little claws. Awwwww. . .I inserted his amazingly tiny beak into the feeder, but it was a no go.

Hmmm. . .I couldn’t imagine the little guy holding on to the hummingbird feeder for any length of time looking the way he did, so I decided to seek additional help. I contacted a local wildlife re-hab organization called Claws. They told me the hummingbird feeder advice was all wet. The thing to do was to put him in his box, put the box in a very dark place for two hours, and then give him another go at being outside.

Tick. . .tick. . .two hours later I brought him back to the porch and set him on the railing. With any luck he would perk up and fly off. But it was not to be. He just sat there. I returned him to his box, called the wildlife rehabber, left two very bewildered dogs in the house, and set off for the 30 minute trip to the Claws compound. My heart was pounding as I roared down twisty back roads, reminding myself that no one would be served if I had a wreck trying to deliver this little guy.

At last, I pulled into the drive and the rehabber came out to meet me, carrying a clipboard with paperwork on it. Just like a human ER! As I started the paperwork, though, she told me there was no need to complete it. I’m sorry to report that our teeny little friend didn’t make it. I am sorry that he couldn’t be saved, but it was an honor to see one of these amazing little guys at such close range. And to hold it in my hand? A miracle.

If there is a hummingbird heaven, I hope my little friend is flitting around there without a care. And if there is a human heaven (or hell), I hope handling a little hummingbird won’t count against me.