writings and musings of a girl whose soul is lost in another era and who enjoys pulling out her city's past in the most interesting of places.
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
tale of two Luckys
this is Lucky, or Tiny Tim..I like the first name better. He was found in a driveway, probably the runt of the litter as his mother was nowhere in sight and he still had the afterbirth on him when a dog performing the role of surrogate mother began cleaning him off. To the man who rescued him and gave him a home with ten other brothers and sisters he thought he was a tennis ball.
Now he's a curious 5 week old rascal who posed for the camera when my friend took his picture in between feeding him. She got it right, I got it wrong as he became a wee bit agitated when the milk wasn't coming out of the bottle.
this my Lucky...well not really mine, but I found him and I didn't want to keep calling him baby bird. On a hot Sunday, quite a few blocks from home, lost in my own thoughts, something moving near the curb caught my eye. This baby had fallen out of its nest, breaking its leg and was using all of its energy to push up against the curb, and almost into traffic. I could tell by its labored breathing that it was taking everything out of it.
I didn't want to leave it, but didn't know what to do. The city hot line told me there was an animal hospital on the opposite side of town from where I was that could take it, provided I put it in a box. So in 90 degree weather I rushed home and grabbed gloves, a washcloth and the perfectly sized Panasonic battery box from the bodega owner on the corner. Reaching back to the bird he had surprisingly pushed himself even further down the street. I learned later that it was a baby robin which explained why it wobbled hurriedly towards me with its mouth open when I crouched in the street as my tank top was the color of an adult robin's chest.
Cross town to the hospital, only to be told that there were no vets on staff, that I could take him the next morning to the wildlife rehabilitator all the way back cross town, as they were closed.
"You gotta keep him for the night, if you leave him here he will die."
"What am I supposed to do with him?" a perplexed me countered as my new lodger banged in his box. Food ( which didn't work) and keep him safe.
Back in my apartment I whistle for Lucky to eat ( he chirps back but refuses to open his mouth for any other purpose) I look up that baby robins eat between sunrise and sunset so I rationalize in my head that he simply missed his last meal. In the cool darkness of my bedroom I sit his box on the floor and then proceed to wake up every hour to check that he is still alive.
"Please don't die." His wings moving up and down show me that he is alright...
Then promptly at 5:15 just when I begin to fall asleep, little Lucky starts chirping up a storm, despite my gratitude that he's alive and my pleas for him to be quiet for at least another hour and then I would take him to a nice place where he could eat real food and get his leg fixed. He obliges by turning into a snooze alarm and chirping every 5 minutes.
Bus ride downtown, a moment of panic in the box when an ambulance rolls by but then quietness when the nice wildlife people take him in.
I'm the girl who is pointing her camera in the opposite direction of the Empire State building, at the faded sign on a tenement down the street. If not I'm bothering the folks at the Municipal Archives digging up info on people long gone and writing among other things a biography on a man who did wicked things. Stay tuned.