Why Baby birds don’t want your help.
Monday 28th October
A short story about why baby birds here don’t want your help…
Walking to work I spotted a baby Myna on the ground. It’s eyes were closed, it was barely moving, it looked dead.
I gave him a little poke, his eyes opened, but nothing more.
“I must save him” the idiot voice in my head replied. (How many layers of white saviour bullshit does that come from I wonder?)
I went and got a box, filled with shredded kitchen roll. Went outside, and scooped up said baby bird into the box. The minute I did the tree above us erupted with screeching and baby bird started screaming.
I sat on my porch, baby bird playing dead (again) in the box, and googled baby myna fledglings and what we are meant to do with them. Turns out the general advice is simple: just leave them alone. Often these fledglings are learning to fly, part-and-parcel of which is sitting on the ground looking vulnerable whilst they work out their next move. Needless to say, I ran back to the tree and left b.b. under it, in his box. As I did I got swooped and screeched at.
Panicked, I watched to make sure I hadn’t ruined this baby’s life, but within minutes he was out the box, hopping around, being fed by his mum.
A hilarious lesson in not assuming I know best. Yet again, more-than-human teachers schooling me in ‘Australia 101’.
Ibis count x 0
Pissed off baby count x 1
Parent bird on wire above (after swooping me) and baby bird in the box at the bottom of the tree.
Observing baby and parent bird coming back together after my interference.