The Bird

The window

By Angie Quantrell Angie Quantrell

I had just finished reading two separate blog posts.

The first post was about clean windows and how they look great - until the sun streams through and we can still see the smudges and streaks left despite our efforts. You can read this Lynn Austin post here. A Clear View

The second post asked the question "Just How Big is God?" The author encouraged readers to consider how God knows every little detail, even down to when a sparrow falls to earth. Every sparrow! Read this post by Leslie A. here. Just How Big is God?

A few mere moments after completing these readings, I heard a loud thunk.

In our house, a thunk usually means a bird has flown into our large picture window.

This window, speaking of clean windows, streaks, and smudges, defies my every attempt to make it clean and sparkling.

I raced towards the front window, glancing down into the flower bed beneath the brick ledge.

Sure enough, a stunned sparrow twitched on the bark. I went out and saw that it barely breathed. I gently picked it up and stroked its back, watching for signs of being stunned or on the edge of death. Some birds survive our window. After a few moments of being knocked out, they flip over and fly away.

This little guy did not. He didn't take more than 2 or 3 breaths as I held him cupped in my hand. I watched the still breast, hoping that I just couldn't see the ribs move. But the glass wall was too much for his tiny body.

And there I was. Crying for a tiny sparrow who died from smashing into my window. Even though I could see the dirt and smudges on it, it looked clear and invisible for my feathered friend. There was nothing I could do.

But God knew. He knew the exact moment the sparrow crashed into the window and the second it took its last breath. And He cared that it happened.

God knows all things. He cares about everything in our lives, down to the tiniest detail. Though He is the God of the Universe, He knows and cares.

About us. About that poor sparrow. About me crying when the sparrow died. About my frustrations with daily life or big events or fears that seem silly. He cares.

God cares.

Saving the Birds

After 4 finches came unwillingly into the house in less than 24 hours, it was time to save the birds.



The cats. Mabel and Monet. I don't know what changed, but suddenly the finches were having particularly harried days. Either the cats were mega-charged in their bird snatching skills and were enjoying that success by bringing mommy a bird - often - or the birds were waxing eloquently as they greedily gulped sunflower seeds by the dozens and failed to see or hear gray calico cats lurking and stalking.



Either way, after a robust season of catch and release (by one or both cats) and then catch and release (by me, the mom), it was time to remove temptation.

Don't get me wrong. I adore and love my sunflowers. I really only had to plant them one year. After that, they sprang up unaided from seeds dropped during the previous season. I hated having to put them down. The bees would starve, the table would lack from flowers, the shade would disappear . . .

But the poor finches. I can't even count how many I've rescued and taken out to the front yard (opposite of sunflower territory) and released under the lavender bush to recover. Perhaps not all made it and we will find tiny skeletons when we trim off the growth for winter. I hope not.

So good-bye finches. Realize that while I have taken away your food, I am prolonging your life. Go. Be happy. Sing loud. Stay away from cats.

That is why I do not put out bird feeders. Clever cats.


"Snicker, snicker. Me? Never."

Where is the REST of the Bird?

You know that moment.

The one when you return from a day-long excursion and the girls were left to their own devices. (Four-legged, furry, sisters from the same litter - that kind of girls.)

And there it is. A something dark on the floor. What is it? Barf? Mouse? Rat? Bird?

Creeping ever closer, you are relived to find it is a feather. A very large feather. But how did it get there?

And where is the REST of the bird?

Did they eat the whole thing? Is it loose and wounded in the house? Are there other piles of feathers and 'stuff' in a different room? Where are the girls anyway?

So you search, room by room, hoping to not find anything that jumps out or wiggles or spreads blood and guts while also needing to discover the source of the feather and deal with it.

Nothing.

Some relief. But not really. Because the feather did belong to someone at sometime.

The last time this happened, we found piles of tiny feathers. No bird. Months later, Mabel managed to scrape out the petrified dehydrated bird from beneath the stove. Can I just say YUCK?

So far, so good.

Let's check back in a few months to see if she pulls something else from beneath the oven.

Birds of a Feather

(Adapted from Chara! 365 Days of Joy, a work in progress)

Cedar waxwings enjoy backyard fountain

Bird watching never used to be on my radar.

Sure, I could chase chickens with the rest of the kids or tell you that there were three crows staring at us from the power lines. But that was about the extent of my interest. Oh, and the partridge in the pear tree. I've always liked that bird.

But now. I am a bird of a totally different feather. It all began as I spent hours in the passenger seat looking out the windows while my husband drove us to various locations, near and far. I started noticing birds. Different colors, shapes, sizes, and activity levels of birds flocked to my attention. I transformed into a bird watcher with cat-like aptitude to (mentally) crouch and take notice of anything that flitted or landed.

American goldfinch devouring my sunflower seeds (out of many, only ONE photo offered a bird that was slightly recognizable)

And out came the bird identification guide.

It lives in the passenger seat door pocket, all 340 falling-apart pages held together by the hard plastic of the door. Many an hour has been spent scrutinizing bird silhouettes, flight style, body shapes, sizes, colors, and habits, all while riding side seat to my personal chauffeur. Birds are fascinating creatures, both timid and easily put to flight and aggressive to the point of defending nest and offspring against all foes, regardless of size.

The kitties think they should help me ID birds! They haven't yet figured out that they can hunt the birds.

Adult birds sheltering nestlings beneath their wings is a dear picture. That same image, written by the Psalmist in chapter 91, verse 4, was clearly intended to illustrate our feelings of security and well-being when taken under the wings of God. Considering that God the Father is the protective and sheltering parent, under whose wings we may take refuge, it is indeed a comforting image. I find peace and joy knowing that He is there.

I am a part of His flock and under His wings I shall take refuge.

Psalm 91

Birded

We've officially been birded.

Similar to flamingo-d. A few days ago, between the hours of about four and eight in the evening, someone planted a very cute, yellow wooden shore bird in one of our flower beds beneath the dogwood. It is so cute! Kevin called me, asking me to come quick, and where did that bird come from? What bird? I had no idea.

Upon closer inspection, all we could tell was how cute the bird was. It has a new home beneath the bare dogwood tree and will look very adorable throughout the season of dogwood flowers and lavender blooms.

Any ideas about the culpit? We love it!

Today, in the back yard, we were birded again. By a flock of robins, sparrows, and some sort of waxwings. All exceedingly cute and fighting over our hand water pump fountain. Too funny! I guess we have one of the few flowing water sources in the 'hood. Hey, all! Head over to Papa and Mama Q's. They's got the drink!

My....aren't we the popular ones?

P.S. Just found out that a large (at least 15 member) portion of the flock visiting the water hole were Bohemian waxwings. Beautiful. Thanks, Audubon handbook.

BBG: Birds Be Gone

Why, yes, it did take me all the way until the middle of August to conciously wonder why I had not seen many birds in my yard. And then bam, there I was talking to myself.

"You know, there haven't been any birds around this summer," I said to me. "Usually they are hanging out at the fountain and eating my berries and annoying the cat and picking at the lettuce. They haven't even been having this-is-my-sunflower-get-your-own wars!"

Well, there was that one day there was a beautiful yellow finch eating off the cosmos seeds. But that was it.

Doesn't take me long. I put 2 and 2 together.

This was because I had just noticed WHAT was making the squawking sounds all summer...I KNEW it sounded like a bird that eats other things,like meat. But I couldn't locate the culprit.

Guess where this bird, who had found perfect hunting grounds in my backyard, was nesting? And chilling?

Notice the sparrow hawk on top of the pole. My zoom does not do justice. He was eye-balling me!

Nesting? Right behind our fence in a huge tree. Chilling? Top of the power pole behind our fence.

Sheesh. Sparrow hawks been having a good time in the ole garden of Q.

If you ever feel like small birds are destroying your garden, just encourage one of these sparrow hawks to nest. No more problems for you. Except noise.

So. My birds be gone. Boo-hoo.

(Those are my sunflowers in the foreground. Same bird is on top of the pole. His mate is outlined on a branch in the big tree behind him.)