Just a week after my first backyard birdcount in Denver City
Park, I head back over – again on Sunday morning – to do a second count. We’re required to do two of these a month,
and I’m ready to complete my August requirements.
Because I was just here a week ago, I don’t have high
expectations, so I’m particularly buoyed when I hear birdsong as soon as I walk
into the park from the south side.
Definitely birds singing in volumes that I didn’t hear at all last
week. And even better, as I look up,
there are birds flitting through the leaves of these trees.
Sweet!
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| Female American Goldfinch |
I follow one bird with my binocs, and finally get a good
enough look to see that it’s a……..what the heck is it? Oh crap, I thought I was making progress, but
I’m clueless.
So I do what I do whenever I’m clueless and I have a
semi-cooperative bird: I pull up my
camera and snap off a few photos. It
doesn’t always tell me what I’m seeing, but it gives me hope that I might
figure it out later. Or, if I can’t
figure it out on my own, I can beg my birding community to help with the ID.
 |
| Male American Goldfinch |
Before I have time to worry too much about figuring out this
bird, I hear another bird in the same tree, and look up to see a male American
Goldfinch. Bingo! The not-all-that-distinct bird is a
female! I’m patting myself on the back
for my extraordinary powers of identification, when I hear yet another bird.
But this one is down low.
I check the trunk of the tree, and find a tiny bird, mostly covered in
feathers, trying to make its way up the tree trunk. The little guy can’t fly yet – although you
can see that he gives it his all – so he’s attempting a fly-walk up the side of
the tree.
 |
| Baby, trying to make its way up the tree trunk |
It doesn’t take long to figure out that this is why the mom
and dad Goldfinches are hanging around so closely. (And I thought I was just becoming a
masterfully stealthy bird photographer.
Oh shucks.) Mom and dad are
watching out – and making some noise – to keep Junior safe.
 |
| Mom Goldfinch, keeping watch |
This is new for me;
I’ve never found a baby bird out of the nest. What do I do?
I’m – truly now – clueless. I’m
assuming this guy has fallen from a nest, but try as I might, I can’t see one
in any of these trees. And if I did find
the nest, what would I do?
 |
| Baby, taking a rest |
This guy seems so small, and so helpless, and I feel so
powerless. My heart breaks. I came to count some birds and perhaps take a
few photos. Instead, I’m devastated.
I think I’m just stressing all of these birds more than I’m
helping, so reluctantly I leave to make my rounds in the park. I count the same Canada Geese and
Double-crested Cormorants and other odds and sods of birds in the park this
week. No big changes.
Nothing other than the fact I can’t get my
mind off that little baby finch.
So when I get back to my starting point, I go in search of
little baby American Goldfinch. He’s not
there, at least not that I can find in the little grove where I saw him
earlier. I’m not sure whether to be
relieved or more worried. Maybe the
parents got the baby back to the nest?
Maybe they all flew away and lived happily ever after?
My car isn’t far away, and I start the walk back there. But then I see a bird: a male American Goldfinch, perched on the top
of a soccer goal thingy. By instinct, I
take a few steps towards the bird. He
sees me, and flies down to the ground, pauses a moment, then flies away. My eyes go to the spot where he was on the
ground, and there’s our baby bird. Or at
least, there’s a baby bird. I can’t help
walking up to it, again not knowing what to do.
There it is, huddled down in the grass, looking so frail and so helpless
and so vulnerable. I take a couple of
photos, wondering what to do, but thinking that if mom and dad are there, there
is hope. And I get in my car to drive
home and cry my eyes out over my own complete powerlessness and the
vulnerability of this tiny helpless being.
When I get home, I’ll pull out all of my resources to try to figure out what
to do. Or if I should even do anything at all (which is often the hardest thing to do). I email my AMB class, and while I’m
reading about American Goldfinches and nestlings and fledglings, advice starts
to arrive.
I’m blown away by what I
read. American Goldfinches are born
altricial. This is a new bird word for
me, meaning they are completely helpless at birth: eyes closed, no feathers,
completely dependent on their parents to be fed. And yet, these little guys leave the nest in –
on average – 11-15 days.
That. Blows. Me.
Away.
Heck, I’m, um, a few more than 15
days old, and there are still days when I’m not sure I’m ready to venture out
into the world on my own. The birds are
dependent on their parents for only about 3 weeks for food, then they are able
to fend for themselves. These birds –
American Goldfinches – are late nesters, so it’s not a surprise to find such a
young bird so late in the nesting season.
I will learn, between the reading that I do and the advice
the community sends my way, that the best thing to do is to let the bird parents
parent the baby bird. I read that even
if I can find the nest and put the baby back into it, it’s a game of
diminishing returns, since the little guy most likely hurled himself out, and
would likely do so again. That doesn’t
make it a whit easier, though, as I worry about people and dogs and cats and
squirrels and all manner and type of hazards and threats to this precious
little ball of fluff; it makes for a
long night.
When I go back the next day
to check to see if the baby is okay (and of course I must go back), I can’t
find a single singing bird in the park.
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