A Tangled Bird

As I recall it, we were playing badminton in the back yard when a wild bird flew into the thin netting which was just big enough to catch its body and one wing in a way that rendered it unable to escape.

Loving wild things –especially wild song birds, I approached, which made it flop about wildly and tangle itself even more in the thin threads of the netting.  It cried to its kind and soon there were several birds perched above us on low branches calling back in sympathy.  When I tried to get hold of the small frightened bird, it pecked my hand and arm hard, making me bleed.  I drew back and tried to decide how I could approach to set the bird free.  By now, my daughter had joined the effort.  With each try, the bird’s struggle further tangled it in the net increasing its fear and rage toward any human body part that approached.  We were trying to speak gently and move slowly to reduce the bird’s fear and aggression, but nothing helped.

With the passing of time the bird was obviously in danger of serious injury.  It cried out furiously as it pecked at us frantically.  The other birds began to bombard us with their own frantic cries.  Finally my husband brought a dishtowel from the house.  We wrapped its head in the dishtowel.  Its feet were tangled beyond movement for the time being.  Its wings were tightened injuriously in the netting.  While one held the towel over the face of the bird to stop its pecking, the other two worked to unravel the strings from around it’s body.

It was not an exact science and we didn’t want to kill the bird freeing it.  It would shake loose long enough to peck us again now and then and the other birds were interfering with the rescue obnoxiously.  As the feet were freed, they had to be held as much as possible to keep the talons from drawing more blood or tangling into the net again. 

We were sore and bleeding but determined.  Working together, eventually that determination paid off: the bird was freed and joined its waiting friends and family in the tree.  We cleaned the wounds and stopped the blood flow.

A recent event brought this to mind.  Sometimes we get caught up in another person’s pain and fear.  It’s not our fault that the person is wounded or fearful.  We want to help.  We must help.  For all our efforts, we are pecked raw.  The person cannot understand our kindness or our intentions, for his own fear and pain are too great.  Walking away is unthinkable, but enduring the out pouring of frustration from the one to which we wish to bring safety and comfort is also unacceptable.  We back away in pain.  We reach in again to try to help.  We know he does not want our help.  We see that the web is becoming a noose.  Eventually we are torn to shreds and exhausted.  But we cannot stand by and do nothing, even when the person calls to his peers and they bombard us. 

The tendency is to walk away or be less than gentle.  It’s only one bird after all.  But for some of us, walking away is not in our nature.  We seek to learn, to be wiser next time.  But truth is, we will be torn.

The bird was not grateful for the help, just to be rid of us.  And yet, it would have died without help –specifically, our help.