Birdie

I popped by the station to visit Lars on Saturday. He brought me over to see an injured bird that several people had reported to the station. It sat in the corner of a bank parking lot, sitting very still and holding its wing awkwardly. Lars called a bird rehab center I knew of from home, and they offered to take it. Lars was working, so that meant that I had to take the bird. I begrudgingly agreed to take the bird, as long as I didn't have to touch it.

My first response when seeing an injured bird would be this: leave it alone, circle of life, etc. This is because I am DEATHLY afraid of birds. I have a few fears, but being around birds is incredibly frightening to me. Lars poked many holes in a cardboard box and placed the bird inside of it. I could see the box in my rear view mirror and I half expected a very pissed off crow pop out of the box and attack me, my car flying off the very rural road and my body discovered a long time afterwards. 45 minutes later I arrived at the bird center, where I saw a couple of people working on an injured hawk that was the size of a small dog. My heart was going boom-ba ba, boom ba-ba. The woman in the office told me I could bring the bird in, which I did. I gingerly carried the box, amazed about how light it was. When I got inside, I told the lady about my fear. She deftly took charge, handling the very pissed off bird, who pinched her fingers and squawked. She said that the bird was a juvenile and appeared to have a fracture high in the wing and was favoring one foot. I thanked her, left a donation and drove home. The bird's wing was splinted and it is healing.

Where does fear come from? My childhood dealings with chickens probably frames this fear. The chickens were mean, smelled, brought rats to the farm and were a chore I shared with my brother. It just makes me wonder...