By Mark David Blum, Esq.

This past week, I had to say goodbye to a dear friend who succumbed to lung cancer. After a beautiful service at St. Sophia’s (which was all Greek to me) and a kiss on her forehead, I left the church and came home to wallow in quiet contemplation. It was a beautiful day with only the one dark cloud of sorrow overhead.

After changing and relaxing a bit, I went and checked on my birds. For the past several years, a pair of Starlings has been nesting in my air conditioner and each year, I get two or three sets of hatchlings. When I came home from the funeral and checked inside the nest, there they were: eggs. Two eggs had been laid that day and as I write this, three more eggs are in the nest for a total of five hatchlings due to break out of their shells sometime next week. I was immediately struck by the two events and realized that ‘life’ belongs to no one. Rather, it is itself a process on a grand scale. One dies, one is born, and so it goes.

To the parents of these hatchlings, I am a major annoyance. They scream and make nasty comments to me when I am near the nest. Flying out of the nest into branches of a nearby tree every time I set foot outside near the nest, the birds sit on the branches and make all kinds of racket with chirps and clicks and screeches until I leave. Mommy bird then immediately returns to her nest. This does not happen after dark so I figure the birds are more afraid of the dark than they are of me.

I can understand that notwithstanding how much I feed and play with these birds, how they still refuse to trust me enough to get close. While the black capped chickadees, blue jays, and even baby cardinals will come up and feed with me there, the starlings refuse to get near me. Given our respective size differences, I can imagine if a creature 500x my size wanted to reach down and play with me. Bet your ass I would start screaming and fighting while trying to get away.

This also happens with the hatchlings. After the first time I monitored without interference the raising of babies, in subsequent nests filled with babies, I actually go into the nest and play with the babies. I hold them and calm them until they stop fighting and succumb to the gentle stroking, the warmth of my chest, and I know they can hear my heart beat. Over the course of the 2-3 weeks that it takes them to grow large enough to fly on their own, it is almost a daily ritual repeated several times that I play with and hold the babies. The goal is to earn their trust.

Annoying their parents is also a fun thing to do. Obviously just entering the nest and taking one bird out and holding it pisses off Mom and Dad to the point they will scream and even fly at me. To get even, I reconfigure openings in the air conditioning until such that the birds have to feed their young by getting real close to me and doing it so I can watch. As much as it annoys them to find their usual routes closed and have to make a riskier move, the need to feed the young trumps the fear of the Godzilla creature watching their actions. Food is shoved down the hatchling’s throat, the parent yells at me, and then flies off in search of more food.

I watch and study these birds and have seen what I see as the most exhausting task any parent could have. Try this scenario: Assume you have just given birth to quintuplets … five children all at the same time. Further assume that you do not have the ability to nurse your children but instead must feed them food from the store. To put your task in terms of how hard these birds work, it would be as follows: You would leave your house, get into your car, drive to the nearest market, take a spoon full of food from the store, drive back home, go into your house, and dump that spoonful of food down one child’s throat. Now repeat this same process for all five kids. Can you imagine how many trips to the store, how much driving and labor is involved, and by the time your kids are full, it is time to start all over again. Kudos to the starlings as my own would have starved to death under similar circumstances. (Here’s a buck, go get your own damn food).

This process of fly and feed and fly and feed goes on non-stop all day long. The air traffic is busier than JFK airport. At the same time, the hatchlings are making sure their Momma knows they are hungry by chirping and crying out all day long. The noise at times can drive you insane. Shout at them to “shut the fuck up” and they get quiet for a moment. Just as suddenly, they return to their “FEED ME” colloquy.

Eventually like all good kids, the hatchlings will leave the nest. You never know when this is going to happen. One day, Momma will be on the ground and will make her usual chirps and clicks. One by one, the hatchlings will peek outside the air conditioner, and then take off to flight. Slowly soaring down to the ground, one by one the family moves into the brambles and brush below the trees. For days after, I will still hear them crying out for Mommy. Then one day they are all in the trees looking at me, and then just disappear never to be seen again.

One year, I had the good fortune to really “connect” with one of the hatchlings. The baby seemed to enjoy being held. The baby even sat on my shoulder and let me walk around with him sitting there. After we had some fun, I returned him to his nest but left the door open so he could fly off and join his family. They had all left. He stayed behind.

Imagine how my heart felt when a few hours later I noticed he was gone. I was in a panic. My first thought was that a predator got him. My next thought was he fell off the balcony and was splattered on the rocks below. He was nowhere near as large as his siblings when they finally flew out of the nest. In fact, he was not much larger than a small Grade A egg with very light black feathering. I checked everywhere. I ran downstairs and scoured all around. Alas … no bird. It was eerily quiet. I was afraid.

So I was sitting outside sucking down a butt trying to figure out what happened when suddenly …. I heard it … I heard my bird. I know that “FEED ME ALREADY GODAMMIT” chirp anywhere. Jumping to my feet, I search frantically for the source of the sound. I finally determined that it was obviously coming from down below and somewhere in the thicket at the edge of property.

Shit! The little guy is out there alone and vulnerable to any hungry critter than comes along. Something had to be done!

Finding the nearest phone booth, I changed into my Superman costume and flew down the stairs and outside. Rushing around back, I unhesitatingly plunged headfirst into this thorny sticky gnarly mosquito infested thicket of branches bushes trees and I don’t even want to know what else. Pausing quietly, I listen for the tell tale cry of “MOMMMMMMY, I’M HUNGRYYYYYY AND THERE’S NOTHING TO EEEEEEEEAT”. I managed to locate the little guy … right next to the base of the trunk of the thorny tree.

Having no choice, I fought my way into the thicket only to watch him scamper off to another side. We played this little game for about half an hour … him running around the underbrush and me getting sliced and diced and cut into shreds trying to save his scrawny neck.

Tiring quickly of this Abbot and Costello routine, I finally get smart and chased the little shit out of the tall grass and onto the open lawn. AHA! GOTCHA!

Then the little bastard did what every one of us was taught to do when a creature 6,000 times our size wants to pick us up and play with us… he stopped, he dropped, and he rolled … right on over onto his back. His little feets were kicking about and he was trying to peck my hand every time I reached for him.

The Good Lord, however, always arms even the weakest among us with weapons of defense … and it was time for this little pipsqueak to start screeching at the top of his lungs. Echoing off the walls of my home and those around me, you would think I was shoving a red hot poker up the ass of a full grown banshee instead of just trying to save a little chickadee. He screeched so loud, I was embarrassed and afraid someone might see me.

“Hey you there! What are you doing to that little bird? Get away from him!”

The most amazing thing then happened. His foot grabbed hold of my finger ... and just held it. The longer he held my finger in his tiny tootsie, the quieter and calmer he got. So long as I let him hold my finger, I was able to use my other hand to stroke his feathers, scratch his head, and rub his tummy. He got quiet and never made another peep.

I picked him up, took him upstairs, placed him safely inside his box, and sat back and licked my wounds … all 8,360 of them. Of course, I was full of myself and feeling damn proud for saving his life.

As I sat there wiping the sweat and blood and dirt off, I heard the familiar song of “Mommy’s Home” as his mother was in the tree nearby where she always is and was doing her usual … “Honey, did you set the table? I have yummy grubs for you.”

For each of her chirps, the little guy gave her one back. This went on as it usually did … with one small exception. Mom was not moving off the branch. She was not screaming and cawing at me; like I give a shit about her nagging as I already have a wife, thank you. This time was different. She sat on the branch and they had their private “bird chat” … but she was not flying closer or coming in to feed. She just held her ground.

I kept seeing the littleone peeking his head out when he would respond to her but when he would see me, he quickly skirted back inside. This went on long enough that it became clear he wanted to come out of the box. I thought, “cool, mom will feed him out in the open so I can really watch.”

When he wouldn’t come out, Superman came the rescue again. I reached inside the box and brought him out to stand on the deck. Then one screech from mom, the hatchling hollered “I’m coming Mother”. Making a mad dash for the edge of the balcony, he leapt off, spread out his near-wings, and glided slowly to the ground. As soon as his feet hit touched down, he scurried off into the thicket once again. Down came mother and once again they were a family. Apparently, my efforts to help were nothing but mere meddling.

It is always a sad day when my babies fly the coup. I feel alone again; abandoned. It is just quiet. No birds. No chaos.

There were moments, however, when I swore I heard the little guy … begging for food … from somewhere in the thicket.

I wonder if he will come by one day and say “hey, how’s life?”