Just a Bird

Two days ago Sherry and I were in New Bern, NC for a wedding. We took advantage of the trip and turned it into a lovely, much needed weekend vacation. One of the best things about the weekend was staying at the Howard House, a victorian Bed & Breakfast right in the heart of the historic district. We were able to walk everywhere, which was a real treat. One of the places we enjoyed and returned to was the riverwalk along the Neuse River just a block from our B&B. On Saturday evening after all the wedding festivities were over, we changed back into comfortable clothes, grabbed our current books, and headed back to the riverwalk to relax on a bench and enjoy reading by the water with the sound of the moving water in the background. We had a particular bench in mind, at the farthest end of the path, but were shocked when we saw what awaited us at that very spot. On the seawall right next to the bench was sprawled a soaking wet bird - possibly a sea gull or a tern, we're not sure. It's large wings were extended, hanging over the two sides of the wall. It appeared at first to be dead, but then I noticed its head move slightly, followed by the distinct heaving of its body taking a breath. It was a disturbing sight. The bird was obviously very weak and we couldn't imagine how it had ended up on that wall. It was thoroughly soaked as if it had been underwater. Had someone rescued the bird from the water and placed it there on the wall to dry out? As I looked more closely I saw that it had a fish in its mouth. The fish was hanging partly out, but there was also a large bulge on the side of the bird's neck which I guessed was the fish stuck in its throat. Why did it not swallow the fish down? Feeling very sorry for this poor bird, I couldn't simply sit down on the bench and read my book, pretending it wasn't there; and I couldn't walk away without making some kind of effort to help, even though I didn't know what the problem was other than it was water logged and had a fish stuck in its throat. It occurred to me that if the bird made any attempts to move it would very likely fall over the edge of the narrow wall into the river, so the first thing I needed to do was move it to a safer spot to dry out. I gently lifted the bird off the wall and set it on the sidewalk. Although it moved its head a bit, it put up no struggle or resistance of any kind. This bird was clearly exhausted. I couldn't imagine how it could have gotten itself out of the water and onto the wall. This bird was a mystery.

After watching it for a few more minutes I decided to pick it up and do a closer examination. When I did so I was horrified to discover that this beautiful bird was hopelessly entangled in fishing line. It was wrapped around and around its legs, up through its tail feathers and around its body. No wonder it was in trouble! Without a tool of some sort there was no way to remove all that tangled, twisted, knotted nylon line, so Sherry offered to walk back to our B&B and get a small pair of scissors he had packed. While he was gone I picked up the bird again to examine it a little more, especially the head with that fish hanging partly out its mouth. What was going on here? Why couldn't the bird get the fish down its throat when it was obviously alert and aware of what was going on? Then I saw the fishing line wrapped around its neck. Oh, dear God, the bird was being strangled by the nylon! I attempted to loosen the death string around its neck but it was impossible. There were too many tangles. This totally explained why the fish was stuck in its throat. There was no way for the bird's throat to expand for the fish to pass through. Finally, after about fifteen minutes, Sherry returned with the scissors. I began by very carefully clipping and removing the string from around the bird's neck while Sherry held it up for easier access. It was extremely challenging since the string was colorless and difficult to see, in addition to being tangled among the base of its feathers tightly against its skin, but I managed to free the bird's neck and hoped that he would soon be able to swallow his fish.

Then I started working on the legs, but this was turning out to be a harder task than I had expected. While I was working at gently clipping and removing pieces of killer string, a young woman walked over and asked if she could help. With her caring assitance, we slowly removed every piece of string that was wrapped around the bird's body and tangled through its feathers. It really was easier with two of us working on removing the string while Sherry held the bird up at eye level for us to have the best possible view in the declining daylight.

We set the bird back on the sidewalk and it took a few faltering steps, but soon tumbled forward and just lay there sprawled again with its wings limp and extended. I gently lifted its head and massaged its throat just a little and it made efforts to swallow. The fish was completely inside its mouth now but was still bulging on the side of its neck. I took a picture of the bird with my camera phone and sent it to Sarah, knowing she would be interested in an animal rescue. She promptly named him Earl, and somehow it seemed to fit. As Earl was beginning to dry out I again became concerned that he was too close to the water. If he made attempts to fly, his spastic flapping could quickly launch him over the low sea wall straight into the deep river and there would be no way for us to get him out. I gently carried him up to an area that put more distance between him and death by drowning, and he continued to be quite alert. Occasionally Earl would make attempts to walk a few steps, but he always fell forward from exhaustion. This bird was clearly traumatized, but I kept hoping that if we could keep him safe from the river and safe from predators that he might regain enough strength to fly away. Eventually I noticed that the bulge on his neck was gone, so he had successfully swallowed his fish.

It was beginning to get dark and we knew we were going to have to leave soon. Earl was by now completely dry except for his under belly that hadn't gotten enough exposure to the air. He still seemed very alert, often moving his head as if he were keeping an eye on his surroundings, and this alertness gave me hope that he was going to make it if he could pull out of the shock of the trauma he had suffered from becoming so hopelessly entangled in all that fishing line. From the way it was twisted and knotted all around his body it was obvious he had struggled furiously to get free. We needed a safer spot to leave him before nightfall, so I carried him a couple hundred yards to a big open field where earlier people had been flying kites. He wouldn't be protected from predators, but he wasn't likely to end up in the river from weak flapping in an attempt to fly before he was strong enough. I carried Earl with his body pointed straight ahead and his wings almost fully extended out to the sides. It seemed to me that it must have felt good to this creature of the air to feel the wind under his wings for a few minutes. He rested in my hands while his gorgeous wings caught the breeze, and the entire way as we moved along the riverwalk he had his head turned to the side with his black eyes upon the river. I couldn't help thinking that Earl had spent his whole life looking down into that water in search of fish, and now he was gazing longingly from his position of helplessness.

We got to the field that was by now vacant, chose a spot that seemed best, and placed him gently on the grass. It was hard to walk away, but darkness was upon us and we needed to be going. As we left I took note of some nearby landmarks so I would be able to use them as coordinates to find this spot again if I chose to return in the morning. My outlook was genuinely optomistic for Earl. Unless he had swallowed a fish hook, which didn't appear to be likely, I believed his biggest hurdle was psychic trauma, and I genuinely hoped that a few hours of rest would enable him to overcome the shock.

The next morning I knew that I had to know the outcome. Although I wasn't sure the night before whether I would want to return and check on him, in the morning it was clear to me that I needed resolution. I would rather know than always wonder. So I walked down by myself to where I had placed Earl twelve hours earlier, and there was his still body in exactly the position we had left him. I lifted him a little to confirm what I was seeing, and felt the cold weight of his lifeless body. Honestly, that was not what I had been expecting to find, but I couldn't change what was, and so I walked along the river and cried. What was I to do now? Should I dispose of his body or just leave him there? For about ten minutes I walked and cried, and then I made my decision. The worst thing Icould imagine would be for a dog to find Earl and tear him up, or for a father to kick him out of the way so his kids could play in that space. A trash can seemed way too disrespectful for the remains of this beautiful creature who had struggled so hard for survival against the entrapment brought about by a human's carelessness. So I returned to where he lay, lifted him the same way I had when he was still alert and there was still hope, folded his wings in as much as possible, carried him over to the river and dropped him into the water. Let the river take him.

So why have I still not been able to speak of this experience? Why has the death of a wild bird affected me so deeply? By attempting to rescue the bird I developed an emotional attachment to it. If I had simply come across a dead bird, as has happened many times, I would have passed by unaffected. Where there is no investment there is no stirring of the heart.

I believe God orchestrated this experience to show me something. It was no coincidence that this drenched bird all tangled in nylon string was lying across the wall next to the very bench we were headed to at the very time we arrived. Earl was so wet when we found him that he had to have somehow come to be in that place just moments before we arrived. However he got there, God put him there for me. I had just been reading a section in Radical, by David Platt, about what God says in the Bible about giving to the poor. The author suggested that our hearts are not moved by the many children who die every day of starvation or from easily preventable or curable diseases, primarily because we can't see them. As long as they are someplace else, out of our sight, we can pretend they don't exist and we can continue to justify our indulgences. But God sees them, and He cares about their suffering, and He wants me to let go of some of my material blessings for the sake of the desperately poor of the world. Birds die all the time and I am not affected, but when I am the one in the role of trying to save a bird's life, the investment changes me. It shakes me up, even if for just a little while. I think God is trying to shake me up, and not just for a little while, to move me to invest in the poor of the world whether I ever see them in person or not. Meeting Earl was surely a divine appointment.