Yesterday Heather and I were walking the dogs when I spotted our recently disabled friend from a few posts back. That little bird with the funky leg. Remember him?
I know what you’re thinking. We found him on the ground half eaten by ants, right? Wrong. That little guy is still kicking, and still thriving. We saw him flying about twenty feet up and land on a power line almost on top of us. He looked pretty healthy, too. And seems to be getting used to standing on one leg. (Much less wobbling than the last time we saw him.)
And he was singing. Loud. I just kinda stood there for a minute, watching and listening. Amazed at how resilient wild animals can be. Doe we all have that toughness somewhere inside us? Our ancestors probably did, but I’m a wimp. I’d still be on painkillers if that was me.
I’m a little worried that infection might still set in. Does anyone know the likelihood of that? Should I try and catch him, futile as that seems, and take him to the vet? I’m usually a “let nature take its course” kind of guy, but I can’t help but root for this bird.
Tomorrow, when we are walking the dogs, I am going to take my camera with me. Hopefully I can get his picture.
Keep fighting, little guy.