Bluebird Watch: A rare chance to lend helping hand
Young wildlife should be left alone, but every so often comes a rare opportunity to help
Every so often it is necessary for someone to scoop you up after you’ve made a leap in the wrong direction.
Friday we broke the law, technically, offering that kind of help to some tiny friends, but it was the right thing to do.
We tipped the scales in favor of survival for some bluebird chicks and right now the local bluebird population can use any boost it can get.
The official word from experts—and the law—and the advice shared by responsible outdoor communicators, is that if you find a fledgling out of its nest, let it be. Never assume you know better than nature.
A lot of people make that mistake this time of year so, this is one of those “do as I say, not as I did” kind of columns.
Picking up a fledgling or gathering up a fawn or raccoon or beaver kit is a bad idea 99.9% of the time. In one-tenth of 1% of the situations, it might involve knowledge of what to do and how to do it, and when.
Most states have laws that protect wildlife and most birds also are protected under the federal Migratory Bird Treaty Act. That applies even if you built the box they’re nesting in.
It is illegal to disturb nests or take wildlife into your possession unless you’re a licensed wildlife rehabilitator. The only exceptions are non-native species like house sparrows, European starlings, and pigeons.
Why then were my wife, DeAnna, and I gathering up fledgling bluebirds around our house late Friday afternoon?
Well, when we returned home from a short errand and saw bluebird chicks in our front yard, I was surprised they were out. I’m monitoring the nest and I knew they hatched on April 15 and that the typical age for a bluebird chick to fledge is 18 to 21 days.
So, just 14 days after they hatched, it was way too early for these little critters to jump out into the big windy world, especially on a late afternoon with 30mph gusts and a dark purple threat showing in the western sky with warnings of heavy storms and possible tornados.
I’d last seen the birds on Day 10 of their little lives, and reported four healthy pin-feathered chicks to the Cornell University Lab of Ornithology NestWatch program. That’s something I’ve done with birds at this nest box for most of the past 10 years.
Once the chicks reach 12 days it’s best not to open the box for nest monitoring to avoid this very early-departure kind of scenario. There’s no telling what made these birds take the early leap, but leap they had.
I did give the crew a chance to pull things together. I grabbed the camera and telephoto lens and prepared to watch the parenting effort from a distance.
Rather than careful parenting, this situation was akin to Ma and Pa running through a shopping mall shouting for a scattered gaggle of tired, grumpy kindergartners.
If the constant sounds of little birds with a vocabulary of cheerful, airy whistles and gentle clicks and clucks can be accurately labeled as frantic, that was the afternoon chorus.
They flitted from chick to chick and perched on the nearest rooflines, tops of the privacy fences and they touched down in just about every tree or bush in my yard and the neighbors’ yard at one time or another. Occasionally they dropped down to visit a chick on the ground. Three chicks were in sight from the sidewalk in front of my house.
One hunkered in the rocks at my neighbor’s front porch—until the male landed nearby and a robin nesting on the porch took offense. That ruckus stirred the little one and it managed to climb the 3-inch rise to the porch surface—which just made things worse with the robin.
One chick ended up huddled a few feet from our front door like it came up to the big house to ask for a hand. Another sat in the open, in the middle of our front yard.
It was the little guy in the yard who set the “rescue” in motion. As I knelt in a spot where I had a view of three of the chicks to take photos, it started hopping closer and closer. Then it was so close I couldn’t even focus on it with my long lens, and it ended up huddled on the lee side of my boot. Apparently, it had keyed in on me as a windbreak.
“This wind is somethin’ else, eh?” I asked.
No response.
Fledgling bluebirds aren’t much more than a gray ping pong ball with a few blue feathers but they are pretty good little fliers right out of the box. I’d seen dust bunnies under my garage shelves bigger than this dude.
I put down the camera and picked up the chick. It was small enough I could close my right hand around its entire body. That grip restrained its little wings and feet with a bit of room to spare. Its little beak poked out between my thumb and forefinger.
It came without complaint, huddled in like Fay Wray getting a lift from King Kong.
I cupped my left hand over my curled forefinger and thumb to block its view, walked quickly to the nest box, removed my left hand to put its beak at the nest box opening, and its little feet immediately grabbed and pushed off my fingers to scramble back into the nest. The other two squawked a bit until I covered their view, but they had no real flight or fight left in them either.
Handling little ones like this usually is not a great idea. Inadvertent injury is easy if they struggle or you have a careless grip. I’ve handled a lot of little birds and had some expert instruction from biologists in the past.
With three in the box, it took time to find the fourth. The adults relaxed some with three of their young back in the box, and it made me wonder if one of the four had remained inside. I decided to hazard a headcount.
DeAnna covered the nest box entrance with her hand and I carefully opened the side door to peek inside. There was no need for concern about them jumping out again. All three were tightly snuggled down into that nest. They’d clearly had enough adventures for one day.
Eventually, both adults landed on the privacy fence and alternately dropped down on the other side. That showed us the location of the fourth chick. With the neighbors’ approval to look around the back of their house, DeAnna scored the final find and scooped up our last little soft, warm, docile escapee.
All-day Saturday the adults fed the four chicks at the nest box and it continues as I post this Sunday morning. I’m watching them like a hawk. I even put out a trail camera so my phone will alert me if they take another leap.
With a little luck, they’ll grow another couple more days before they attempt the leap again.
Just 36 of the 78 eggs we’ve counted at our little nest box over the years actually made it to fledgling status. Believe it or not that 46% success isn’t too bad.
The chance for that glorious leap into life on the wing is fraught with danger. We can’t always be there for them, we’re not meant to be, but a helping hand one-tenth of 1% of the time doesn’t hurt.
Enjoyable read. I’ll call if Momma Wood duck needs help!!
Good one