Yes, it's true...it was the best bird I ever had. Just a humble, small common, brown sparrow. There are millions of them, wild birds who are not coveted for their beauty, song or plumage. They are common to many countries, just ordinary little brown birds...who survive as best they can. It will be sparrows you see living inside cafes, or shopping centres. They are always the ones who somehow find a way to survive inside those large public spaces. Anywhere where food can be found, they will be found. Cheeky birds, survivors, but so common they are barely noticed amongst the larger bird populations...
Not noticed by most people I must add, but I will never be like that after my experience with a sparrow.
Overall, birds are wonderful things, what's not to like. They sing happily every morning, they never have a bad day...never start without a happy song at dawn. They go about their business of trying to survive and to bring up the next generation safely. Of course all birds sing at dawn, as far as I know. Once they wake, at whatever time the sun comes up, off they go, tweet, tweet, trilling a lively song to the skies. They are the eternal optimist, the bird population. Life is hard, survival rests on their daily ability to find food. They are so small, that a day without food would be the end of many of them. The original hunters and gatherers of nature. Every second of their small lives is spent searching for food just to survive.
Man has always kept birds as pets, in various types and sizes of cages. We think nothing of caging them, taking their freedom do we. In some countries they are kept for their beautiful song, in others for their appearance. In many cultures and eras, larger hunting birds were used as sport, to bring down edible game birds. They were strictly classified, with the swiftest, largest hunters allowed only for the use of the gentry. So clearly a status symbol in those times. I never knew those types of birds, but I do know birds. I grew up with birds, as my Father kept cage birds both in the house and the garden. He kept canaries and budgerigars, I think he must have bred them, I wasn't involved in that outside area at all. My Father loved all animals, especially birds and dogs. He couldn't resist a dog, he loved them, not to walk or take care of, but just for the company. Why, I remember as a very small child, sharing a pram with a dog, a black lab puppy. Mick was a big part of my childhood, he never missed an adventure with me, that dog. He was irreplaceable as far as I was concerned.
But birds, it was many, many years later, I decided to keep birds too. My father used to talk us through how to gentle the house birds on to your hand, or teach them to talk. Although I was never allowed to feed, them, or care for the big aviary of chattering, squabbling birds outside. Experimentally, at first I bought one, a budgie, I like the torquise colour. Then a few weeks later I bought another, a pale grey. For company for the first. Soon I bought a big, spacious cage, bigger than me. It had wheels so I could wheel them in and out of the house, I wanted them to have the best life, the most space. My birds were going to be the tamest, the best condition, the least stressed. Then, I decided to breed a few, like my Father before me. Do you think it's in the blood?
I had three couples, all different colours, all unusual. As being an artist, I began experimenting with colour mixes, to see what would dominate in terms of genes, of hue. I bred them for about a year, eighteen months, sold off the babies as they became big enough. Some wonderful colours were created, two of the most unusual I kept for breeding. I learnt a lot about birds during that time. Stories for another blog. Then one day a visiting grandson, who I allowed to feed them, failed to latch the cage. Perhaps that's why I was never allowed access to my Fathers cages. By the time anyone noticed, the birds were all gone. I was heartbroken, I loved every one of them. I knew their ancestry, their characters, they were my babies, I watched them grow. But they were gone, it was no good berating my grandson, who already felt bad enough. The decision had been mine, after all.
Yet he was also the one who found my sparrow, so he, and fate repaid me in some small way. 'Butcher' birds, in New Zealand, where I was living then, are a little like cuckoos, but kill deliberately too. They tip eggs or babies out of nest, basically worse, as they are also canibals. We knew what was happening, after finding several bald, dead baby birds about the outside of the house. Spring time is feast time for them, horrid but true. Then my grandson found one bald lump which he insisted was still alive, well maybe, but barely. "I know how to look after it" he said. What choice did I have, despite not wanting another bird, there it was, bald, ugly and helpless. So, we found a little basket, lined it with soft material and set it on the low heat radiator. I already had baby bird feeding formula, as sometimes a baby is rejected by its parents. We found an eye dropper, mixed the formula runny and commenced feeding, once an hour. Of course my grandson was not up to night feeding, although he was pretty good for the first few days. Only eight then, so to be expected.
Of course you know who did the brunt of the feeds and care.....me. But, what turned out to be sparrow, thrived. His fat transparent, black belly, grew stubby feather, and then his eyes opened as gradually he became a little man. Of course he thought I was his Mother, his mouth open and ready whenever I was around. But that took a few weeks of little sleep and gradually, worm digging too. By them he had his own little cage, with the door open. I wanted him to have as much freedom as possible and he seemed quite happy with the arrangement. He liked to be free in the room. He liked to fly around and I wanted him strong for when Ireleased him back to the wild. He was a wild bird, I didn't want him caged.
One day, I thought this is it, soon he will be too tame. I took him outside, on my hand. But all he did was look around, without much curiosity. I was weeding the garden, so I sat him on a nearby tree and waited for him to fly off. Several hours later, he was still there. As night drew in, I decided I could not leave him without food or water, and took him back in. I tried for several days after that, setting him outside, waiting for him to take off. One day, he came and helped me dig...worms and insects I thought, that's good. Then he sat on my shoulder and there he stayed as I worked about the garden.
By then he was fully grown and quite a character. He loved me, but not my partner. If he came to sit by me on the couch he would hop from my shoulder to his and bite and peck his ears, quite viciously. Jealous I decided, trying to make him move away perhaps, no one was sitting by his woman. No matter how we tried to encourage him to be friendly to him, he would not. He did not like him, only me, he wanted nothing to do with him and that was that. He would attack him for hours if he sat there.
Life went on through the summer, he had the freedom of the living room and the outside patio and gardens, but he never lost sight of me. Once I found him huddled in his cage, he had a chest infection the vet said, but he recovered. Again, I tried to free him, but he was not interested in going anywhere. He lived there, like that for quite a while. Attacking my partner, happy being by me..I loved that little bird, he made me laugh a dozen ways. He had his own little routine and ways.
I don't know how long sparrows live, he was never very big. No, even for a sparrow he was small. I don't exactly know how long I had him, it seems a long time. He was happy, I was happy, my partner ...not so much. But one day, when I got up, he was just dead in the bottom of his cage..with the door open. My little friend, my buddy, my very unusual, out of the ordinary sparrow. Now, I remember him with love, in fact I shall never forget him. He was loyal to me always, which it later turned out my partner never was. I think of it often, I bet that little wild creature knew what I did not. He knew that man was no good for me, if only he could have talked.... But he was only a common little hedge sparrow.......but he was mine and a prince amongst birds. Since that time, many years ago now, I have never kept another bird....what could compare.
Enjoy the birds around you, they are smarter than you think. Even the most plain and ordinary have special abilities....just like my little New Zealand sparrow.
