I Lost Myself There for a Moment

I had a Tourette moment this morning.

My alarm went off at 5:30 AM, and I sooooo did not want to get out of bed. (I’ll note that this is a Saturday morning when all sane people should be sleeping in.) But that was not the Tourette moment.

I really thought that today’s FLAP patrol was just going to be a long walk in the concrete jungle on an otherwise beautiful morning. Spring migration is wrapping up for southern Ontario, and on yesterday’s patrol, my lovely friend Lucy and I found no birds – alive or dead.

One of the parts of being a FLAP volunteer is public education. And trust me, if you’re carrying a butterfly net with a 5-foot bamboo handle, strangers will (gawk and) approach you to learn what the heck you are doing. I really enjoy raising people’s awareness. I always welcome their questions and tell them about the birds that are injured or killed on our shiny, reflective glass windows, and what can be done about it. I find I smile a lot and feel genuinely open to these individuals. I also make sure I give friendly waves to the security guards, because it’s important that they like and respect all FLAP volunteers.

But I digress … I was telling a story about walking around Toronto on a gorgeous day at the end of migration season, and fully expecting to not find any birds in need of rescue.

But at a particular corner, there was the unmistakable sight of a songbird stunned: feathers messily fluffed, entire body still, sitting about a metre from the exterior wall. I think it was a hermit thrush.

Maybe I could have walked right up to it, but I decided to circle around and approach it from behind with my net – just in case it was conscious enough for me to scare it away.

But in that moment, there was a seagull with the same thought; it swooped in to snatch the thrush, which it obviously considered breakfast.

“No! NO! NO!!!!! DAMMIT!!!!! ARRRRRGGGGH!” (Yes, there were people standing on the corner, waiting for a streetcar. So much for all my PR efforts.) I ran toward the birds, waving my net like a lunatic, but the seagull persisted and reached the thrush as I hauled out a few other curse words.

Fortunately, I caused enough of a ruckus that the thrush snapped out of its daze and flew off across the street. Wonders of wonders, the seagull did not follow. I think it might have been startled that the thrush was still alive.

At first I thought I’d lost the thrush. But I was surprised to see that it had still landed in as vulnerable a position as it had just left; again it was sitting on the ground, feathers in disarray and not very responsive to its environment.

This time I was able to catch it. It squeaked when I grasped it through the net and didn’t appreciate my ministrations much. But it was alive. And I expect that, after some time and some rest, as well as an assessment at the Toronto Wildlife Centre, it was released this afternoon.

And this alone made the 5:30AM wake-up call – and the momentarily lapse of verbal self-control - totally worth it.

UPDATE - May 21/07: I heard that this rescued bird was actually a Swainson's thrush, and that after it was assessed by the Toronto Wildlife Centre, it was released back into the wild the same day.