Monday, August 22

Back-post 5/15/11: attempted rescue

Brandon and Ethel napping
peacefully as I begin
my rescue attempt

Remember the fallen robin's nest?

I watched it to see if mama bird would return. When she didn't, I called the Wildlife Rescue Center to ask what to do. They said to bring in the birds.

I couldn't just let Brandon and Ethel starve.

I got a little box to put the nest in and, using my gardening gloves, carefully placed the nest in the box.

The box wasn't big enough for Brandon, though. As you can see in this second photo, he is attempting to escape while Ethel screeches in confusion.
Ethel shrieks while Brandon attempts to escape
(Note bird mess below where their nest was perched.)

At this point, I didn't really know what to do. I wasn't prepared to deal with a little bird flying (or trying to fly) at me. I knew they were almost fledglings (scraggly little downy feathers and no tail, huge feet), but Brandon was not about to let me put him in a box.

I went inside and tried to collect myself. I had to think about what to do next. When I looked out on the porch, here is what I saw:
"Oh, great," I thought. "He's called in back-up."Brandon, next to the box (clearly dedicated to his cause), an adult robin perched on the porch railing (presumably the mother), and another random bird facing the adult robin on the porch railing.

I put my rescue attempt on hold. I wanted to see how things would progress.

I waited (impatiently) inside, looking out the windows onto my porch every few minutes to monitor the situation. Eventually, Brandon moseyed his way across my porch.
Brandon hopping around on my porch

Then he jumped off the porch.

I shrieked and ran outside to look for him.

I found him, unharmed (thankfully), in the grass behind my house. He hopped away from me as I tried to take his photo.

Once I got a picture of him (clearly at this point I was just out to chronicle the entire ordeal), I scooped him up--still wearing my gardening gloves, mind you--and returned his wiggly little bird self to his nest so he could be with his sister.

Days later, both Ethel and Brandon left the nest. Sometimes I swear that Brandon stops by just to see how I'm doing.
Brandon, the escape artist


  1. Yeah, Brandon, that little spitfire, was my favorite bird I've ever encountered.


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