Yesterday, the cats were out in the yard, hunkered down around the spiraea bush. I couldn't figure out why they were climbing all around it, peeking through the branches, and flapping their tails. As I watched from my window, I figured that a little mouse must be in there, and that its life was in peril, so I ran outside and shooed the cats away. Then I parted the branches, and nestled down in the dirt against a rock was this little poor bird, simply shaking with fright.
I picked him up and folded my hand around him, and carried him over to a better spot (after I put both cats in the house). While I held him, he closed his eyes and stopped shaking, putting his feet comfortably underneath his tummy.
Then he looked around, and I thought perhaps he was feeling better. He didn't appear to have any injuries, and perhaps was just attempting emancipation from the nest, with a poor first attempt.
I opened my hand, and he continued just sitting there, like a little child who has awakened from a bad dream, and needs time to adjust. I spoke to him, reassuring him to keep up his courage, then took his picture.
I hid him under the mint, in a far corner of my yard, deep in my vegetable garden. Whatever additional time he needed to recover, he can have it there, without my cats disturbing his concentration.
I did wish him abundant good luck in this world, as sometimes even the best first attempts may fail. But, try again we must. We just have to have time to gather our courage.
This morning, when I checked, he was gone.
