How I Saved a Scrubwren
My mum says whatever you do at the start of the new year, you will still be doing at the end of it. On the 1st of January I saved a bird. Not just any bird, but one that couldn’t fly well yet, a tiny mite just out of the nest. If I can continue saving birds for some of the next 359 days of 2020, I’ll be happy.
Already 100 degrees F by 10 am, in Australia we kicked off the new decade with a heatwave. I heard a thump and checked the window. Grey feathers were stuck to it. The bird was so small I couldn’t see it at first. Sitting on a brick path too hot to touch, its beak was wide open in shock.
Two Magpie’s and 3 Kookaburras were having a custody battle over birdbath access around the corner of the house. All 5 were meat-eaters who would love to tear apart a baby bird. The fledgling was a baby White-browed Scrubwren. Only semi-conscious, it’s yellow rimmed eyes peered about without seeing me, but it stood tall on legs still too long for its body.
The bird was hot, thirsty and stressed out, panting in the extreme heat. Shading the wren with my hat made it flinch. I couldn’t leave it out to be Kooka food, so brought it in. There were feathers in my hand, but no weight. With no idea where to put the wren, I settled for the kitchen sink.
Wings, neck, back and tail were unbroken and it began to look about.
Dripping water onto its beak helped revive ‘Scrubby’ until it was wide awake again.
Scrubby seemed ready to fly.
Opening the window, it looked out then hopped up.
Not much bigger than the plug, Scrubby left a crap message in the sink.
Even so, it sat on the window sill for a few more minutes.
Wild bird heaven for me right there.
Enjoying the moment before they fly away is the best part of saving a bird.
The New Years Day accident didn’t break the wren; I’m grateful for that.
If Scrubby survives all of 2020 it’s expected to live another 14 years. It might still be flitting around the shrubs in my garden on New Years Day 2035? I hope so, I liked saving all 3 grams of the little guy.
