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DaRk AnGel : Why Home : February 2006 : WTF - 2

WTF - 2

WTF!!

Ok so I awaken from my nap. I am less dazed and confused.

Should I simply stay in and watch TV? Or should I venture out? I have little confidence in my balance and walking. I could grab a walker, which I have stationed all over the place. But if I do that I might get dependent on it. All I need to do is fall again. I have been warned by two different doctors that if I fall a certain way I could die. Should I do the safe thing?

I see it is still raining, and the birds feeders are empty. Ok so I am a fool. I gather up the mealworms from the kitchen, get some bread, grab my camera, dress warmly, and get the bb gun and am out the door. It is nippy and damp and my bones let me know they do not appreciate the sudden change. I grab sunflower seeds, bird seed, and thistle. I go and fill the feeders, and put out fresh water, all the while walking on mud that is as slippery as ice. The last thing I do is put the mealworms out.

Under the patio I am a bit high from the extra methadone. But I am less panicky and not shaky or feeling as sick as I was before sleeping. I am still quite afraid of falling. It is healthy to be careful, but what I am feeling is not healthy. I know it, I have to deal with it.

The birds are feeding, all the feeders have probably 50 birds around them. I watch as they jockey and duel, and harmlessly do testosterone fueled shows. It does seem to matter who the boss is. And you know the most violent of confrontations I have ever seen, are with the smallest birds. Hummingbirds will ram another with their beaks diving at full speed. They are the only ones that I have ever seen cause any real injury to each other.

Suddenly and without warning the serenity is broken by a hawk attack. The Mourning Doves under the oak tree are the intended victims. All the birds scatter at once. I hear one slam into a window behind me and to my right. If they had only known. It is Horace. Horace is a baby, well first year, Coopers Hawk. And he is not a very good hunter of birds. So as I have named many of the birds, his is Horace the Horrible Hunter. He is now perched on my Crepe Myrtle and disgustedly looking around for any movement. He looks at me for a second, as if to say, you didn't see that did you? The few birds remaining are frozen. He misses them and flies off before I can get my camera off the table next to me.

Horace is a good weight. He seems to be feeding on the large mice, rats, and lizards and snakes. But anything with flight abilities still causes him problems. He has yet to learn any of the four approaches that I have seen the adult hawks do. I am sure he will one day figure it all out.

I look over hoping the glass to the den withstood whatever hit it. The glass is fine. Under the window is a Gold Finch. He is hurt. I watch. Usually what the birds incur from a window slam is just being dazed. I have seen Wrens lying stiff as if they were dead reviving a few minutes later and flying off. If the birds do not seem to revive or if they seem dazed after a while I attempt to catch them. If successful, I put them in a bird cage, door open with provisions common for the breed. The next day they are either gone or dead.

Now this is totally illegal. I confess I am too much of an animal lover though to let them parish at the hands of one of the neighborhood cats. Send me to jail.. I love animals..

I watch the Finch. He is trying to fly but cannot. I wait. He starts crossing the yard. Hopping unsteadily. If I were not hurt I would have immediately tried to get him. But I am, and well the fact is I cannot save them all. This is what I tell myself.

I hate liars. I do not lie, but I did lie to myself. I can try to save them all. I say a small prayer, get gloves, get my butterfly net, get the bird cage and venture back into the mud. He tries to evade me but cannot. His wings do not look broken. I am unsure of what his injuries are. He does not flap his wings or even attempt to fly. He fruitlessly hops around and I corner him and reach down and gently lift him in my gloved hand.

In the cage he tries to bite the wire to freedom. He is very active. He can make it to the perches. He jumps in the empty feeders. I put a rag in to cover half the bottom, water, sunflower seed and thistle. It seems a terrible way to die if he must, in the cold and rain. I bring the cage inside. I hang it in the kitchen and drape my blue jean jacket around it. He quiets. Tomorrow will bring another decision if he is alive. And that all depends on what his health seems to be. Ultimately I would want him to live freely and be a wild bird.

Then it dawns on me. I have not thought about the fear of falling, or how bad I hurt, or any of the crap I tend to put myself through this past week. All I though about was that bird and what I might do to save him. For a good 30 minutes I was me. Doing what needed to be done without fear, or over thinking things.

I have to get back to what I believe in. If I am to fall - I will fall. It is nothing I can obsess about. I need to be able to garden, walk to the lake and do the few things I can that I enjoy. It is far better than sitting and being depressed and afraid. Sure I need to take reasonable care, but not allow it to restrict my living.

Fear is such a terrible enemy of a full life. And we often lose so much to the stupid things that we tell ourselves; that we choose to believe. I have prided myself in a life of fearing only those things which can kill me. Lions, tigers, alligators and mad women with guns, are things that deserve fear. The chance that I might fall deserves respect but not fear. I refuse to live afraid of what might happen. I never have, I never will.

All it took was a little bird to remind me of who I really am.

WTF = Wilber the Finch!

Thanks Wilber.