Radar and the Bluejay  − 12 August, 2008

It had been a cool seventy-five degrees in Columbus during the month of August.  By that time, it was usually above ninety-five most days, and we'd begun our longing for autumn.  But at the moment, our a/c was off, the windows were open, and it was too comfortable to go to the public pool. 

Instead, the kids wanted me to fill up their kiddie pool on our back deck.  I was into it, despite the chilliness, because kids never seem to notice how cold or hot it is, and this would keep them occupied.  At least for a little while. We'd come to the point during the summer break when the kids have become a little bored with their freedom from their typical school-life routine.  We were all excited about school starting in a couple of weeks.  All of us.

Greta and I began filling the pool.  She loves the water, and especially loved being the one in charge of holding the hose.  It doesn't need to be held, of course, but the children always fought over who got this honorable job.  

A bluejay landed on a branch above us in the hundred year old oak tree that covered most of our yard.   Bluejays are one of the more interesting neighborhood birds with their beautiful markings, but they are aggressive.  And annoying, in my opinion, because of their shrill, irritating caw.  It's piercing, repetitive scream started to get under my skin.  It just went on and on and on with its noise.  So, I yelled at it to "hush!" and sprayed toward it with the hose.  He jumped up a few branches and started up again!  I looked around, trying to figure out what he might be so upset about, but couldn't see anything.  I started to take it personally.  I was thinking, "Really?  You've got nothing better to do right now?  Don't you need to tidy up the nest?  Search for food, or something?  Can't you just get off my back?  I'm doing the best I can!" 

Bluejay number two stopped by for a visit moments later.  I suddenly started feeling like they might just keep on multiplying.  More and more bluejays showing up in my backyard for some bird convention that I wasn't told about.  The topic: Bothering Humans.  Breakout Session #1: How To Ruin A Human's Nice Afternoon.  And, really, it seemed like it was going to be a nice afternoon before they showed up.  No errands to run.   Not a lot of cleaning needed done.  Just a laid back day with the kids.  I thought that I might even be able to get a big chunk of reading done in my book club book about the plague.  That is, if those bluejays would ever shut up.  It wasn't looking good.  

Finn and Stella came out back to join in the fun, and suddenly the two bluejays started getting all riled up.  They actually got louder (I wasn't sure that was possible until that moment) and starting to fly at each other in the middle of our yard.  The fight was on!  

We all stood up to get a closer look at the brawl.  We came to the rail of our deck to get a better view of the yard, feeling like we had front row seats at some sporting event.  When we got a better view, I realized that our cat Radar was down in the grass in the middle of the yard.  The birds were not attacking each other, like we originally thought.  They were dive-bombing him!  At closer inspection, the cause for this big event was made evident.  Radar, being a cat, had caught a bird.  That would be gruesome on its own, but we'd received his "gifts" of mice and birds on our stoop in the past.  It's gross, but we get it.  He loves us.  He kills small animals and leaves them there for us to dispose of.  True love.  What made this particular act of love exponentially worse was that this token of appreciation appeared to be the baby bird of the  two irate bluejays.  At once, I became empathetic instead of irritated, and I came along side of them in their desperation.  I grabbed the hose again, but instead of spraying the birds, I started spraying my own cat, trying to get him to leave the scared, trapped baby alone.

I wanted to protect the little bird, still alive at that point, from the horrible attack being inflicted by our family cat, but at the same time, these parent birds kept coming closer to me and MY babies.  They would fly at the cat and then fly up at us, changing direction back to the cat in mid-air.  I started to look around for anything I could use to get out there and save the baby.  Panicking, I searched for my broom, grabbed a towel, wondered where my umbrella was, because if I just ran out there, those birds would have pecked the eyes out of my skull.  I was also nervous about running down there, fearful that if I left my kids' sides, the bluejays would take advantage of my absence and begin an all-out attack on my children.  Ridiculous, I'm sure, but adding the human trait of revenge wasn't that far of a jump from the humanity I had already assigned to them during this parent/child drama I was witnessing.  I warned my kids to stay back, and told them that the mama and papa bird didn't understand that we are not the bad guys.  And I stayed on the porch with them, spraying the hose at the cat every time he tried to return to the wounded bird.  

I was mad at my cat for being a cat.  So was Finn.  At one point, he picked up his pretend gun, aimed it at Radar, and like an old west sheriff vowing revenge on a murderous outlaw, he said, "I'll make sure Radar never does this again", and he pulled the trigger.  I tried to explain to him that this is just what cats do.  It's normal.  Please don't be mad at Radar for being a cat.  I hadn't considered yet that this baby bird most likely fell from it's nest, and would probably die anyway.  Our cat was just in the right place at the right time.  Radar doesn't even have front claws to climb trees with, so I'm sure that he didn't sneak up to the nest and steal it out of the parent's clutches.  Regardless, all that I and my kids saw was a helpless baby being attacked by a big, heartless killer.  I tried to explain the natural ways of animals, circle of life, yada-yada, to my children in the most diplomatic way I could, but inside, I was actually feeling grief and pity for this bird family.  And I was angry at my cat for being a cat.  The baby bird wasn't moving anymore.

I thought that maybe we'd dig a hole in the backyard to bury the fledgling.  Have a little ceremony.  We had to wait a long time before we could go out there again.  The parents were still cawing loudly and protecting their little baby for quite a while, even though he was clearly gone.  I decided to send the kids out front to play, and I took my book about the plague to the front porch.  Even up front, I could hear them for hours.  I don't know how long a bird grieves, but they could make all the noise and take all the time they needed.  I didn't mind anymore.  

Comments:

sgreen (August 28, 2008. 05:24pm)

Jenna, I just love your stories. Maybe because they are so real to me or just because I love you. I forwarded some onto Debra to take a look at. Keep writing. Love, Mom