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Page Two, Doesn't Everyone have a Bird in Their Earring?

When we made it through the first night, I knew he had a fighting chance. He slept with a full belly in the heated shoebox next to my side of the bed, tucked under a washcloth. The next morning I purchased a small box of human baby cereal and added tiny bits of canned cat food to supplement his diet. I reasoned that the meat might contain a little of the same nutrients as insects his feathered parents would have provided, while the cereal represented the seed food-group. I was uncertain if I was anywhere near matching the ‘food pyramid’ for him, especially since I wasn’t even sure what species of bird he was. My only clue was that his beak was shaped like a seed-eater.

He thrived and became covered with outrageous looking downy fluff sticking out all directions and pin-feathers on his wings. I decided to name him Gulliver, after the book, Gulliver's Travels . Each make-shift nest I invented, he managed to scoot over the edge and drop to the surface below. I no longer believed he had been blown out of his birth nest in a storm; Gulliver-Birdie was a natural-born, I mean hatched, traveler.

When he was old enough for his eyes to open, Gulliver did a better job of staying put. If I remained within his field of vision, he didn’t feel so alone when I wasn’t holding him. This was still as infrequent as he could manage, by the way.

I carried him to work with me in a small hamster cage. Those frequent feedings made him completely dependent. I made a deal with my employer; when I arrived at work I didn’t clock in for the first hour to compensate for the time I spent feeding and cleaning up after Gulliver. My boss agreed, perhaps thinking the bird would only live a day or two at best.

My duties were situated in the art department of a printing company at that stage of my career. Galleys of type were trimmed and arranged into pages, stuck into place with a thin coating of sticky wax adhesive. A machine kept the wax melted and ready for the galleys to be fed through rollers. This waxer became a perfect incubator, radiating enough heat under Gulliver’s cage to keep him comfortable between meals while I worked.

I doubt that the hour of time I donated each day came close to compensating for Gulliver’s presence. The majority of my co-workers paid a minimum of two visits daily to check on his progress and shower him with attention.

Gulliver grew and began to feather out in gray and rich brown, juvenile plumage. He developed the characteristic black bib on his throat and chest as he matured, identifying him as a male English House Sparrow. Teaching him to feed himself was a big hurdle. I couldn’t leave him at home until he ate on his own and I think he knew it! Eventually he learned to pick up his own food and to fly, although he had little motivation to fly anywhere. When he wasn’t in his cage (he graduated out of the hamster cage as soon as he got feathers), Gulliver preferred to ride around on my shoulder as I cleaned house. If I sat down to read a book, he would work his way under my long hair and take a nap against the warmth of my neck. I guess that was the closest thing to wings I had to offer him.

My signature piece of jewelry in the 1970’s was a pair of large, gold hoop earrings. Gulliver decided those were perfect for roosting. He’d step up inside a hoop, happy as could be. Even though he was a small sparrow, he weighed enough to be uncomfortable on my earlobe. I compensated by tilting my head to one side until the occupied earring and Gulliver’s feet rested on my shoulder. Oh, the things we do for our children!

Gulliver-Birdie was a delightful companion. A favorite game was Tug-o-War with a string. I’d lay a string on the floor and he’d hop over, select one end and pick it up. He’d wait patiently, string in beak, until I picked up the opposite end. That was the signal to let the game begin; he’s start pulling, hopping and tugging with all his might. I quietly held my end between thumb and index finger while he did all the work.

Another pastime involved a bell in his cage. It was attached to a short, plastic rod that was fastened securely to one of the vertical bars on his cage. Gulliver would position himself on the perch and grab the rod in his beak. He hoisted the bell high over his head, then down to the perch repeatedly. He exercised relentlessly for many minutes at a time, several times a day. It gave new meaning to working out with a ‘bar bell.’

Fast forward about 30 years. A little over a year ago I broached a topic with my husband that had been creeping into my thoughts with increased frequency. I was toying with the idea of getting a tattoo. I’d thought of an image I could live with the rest of my life.

Page Three>>

©2010 Roberta McReynolds for SeniorWomen.com

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