A few weeks ago, I found a wounded thrush at the end of my street. He was lying on his back, wings extended, attempting to right himself. I gently carried him to my back yard, hoping he was just stunned. I carefully placed him upright on the ground. He made several attempts to flap his wings, but couldn’t balance himself or fly.
I spied a neighborhood cat out of the corner of my eye, so I quickly scooped up the bird, and carried him to safety in my garage. He spent the day, warm and dry, in an empty picnic cooler lined with a towel.
I left messages at several rescue agencies I found on the internet, but didn’t hear anything until evening. By the time I arrived at a 24-hour animal hospital that treated wild birds, the thrush was barely alive. Unfortunately, he had suffered neurological damage, so the vet put him to sleep. I cried, knowing how hard he fought to live.
Yesterday, while walking in my favorite park, I noticed several thrush feeding in the bushes. Two of them eyed me while I took their picture.
As I watched the birds for a while, I had a thought. Maybe one of them was my courageous thrush, returned to the planet, happily living in this beautiful place. The thought made me smile.
(New photos on website Gallery: wandernature.com/new-photos)