Fallen on My Lap

7/25/16

When we moved into our house five years ago, we had the flue of the chimney closed because heat by natural gas worked well for the house.  Before this month we had had a woodpecker and a blue jay that appeared out of nowhere in the house.  As much as we were baffled by where they had come from, we had been too busy to try to find their entrance and guessed it must have been a door left ajar--until about four days ago.

Mike and I had gone away for the day last Saturday.   When we returned home, I found bird droppings on our glass door to the deck.  I instinctively walked around the main floor looking for and wiping clean any other signs of the bird's presence.  Mike then walked through the entire upper level but came back empty-handed.  Granted I usually don’t trust his keenness in finding things around the house, I was considering whether to send him downstairs in search of spots or signs of the bird when a black showy bird appeared near the glass door.  This was the best location for us.  We cornered it while opening the door wide.  In no time we got the bird out the door and I was left with a petty annoyance of having to clean up afterwards.

At around the same time, we had begun to hear chittering from our fireplace and suspected that some birds had unintelligently built a nest inside the chimney and now the chicks were demanding for food.  On Sunday, the chittering suddenly became overwhelmingly loud, so loud that we felt compelled to tap on our wall to warn them to tone down.  After all, this is our house, so be nice and don't overextend your welcome, we chided.  We agreed we would put a tightest cap on the chimney after the chicks were grown and flown away.  Give them two weeks.  We could tolerate two weeks.

That night the birds became even louder despite the fact that the chimney is quite far away from our bedroom.

Came Monday the 25th. I woke Mike up at 5 a.m. because of the non-stop increasing chittering.  He walked over to the fireplace and came back wearing a panicked look.  "The babies have fallen into our fireplace," he exclaimed.  We quickly found a planter, lined it with paper towels and twigs from our yard, and put the four little ones on them.  What happened next only goes to show how unprepared we had been as bird parents.  Mike gave them water, which soaked through the paper.  In my dismay, I brought out a plastic container, put twigs in it, and moved the chicks there.  We took them outside, and strategically placed the container in one of the bushes, hoping their parents would quickly fetch them to a new bird home.

(birds in plastic container)

After Mike left for work, I hid myself behind a window close to the bush, hoping the mama bird would at least bring them food.  Two hours went by and nothing happened.  I decided it was up to me now to make sure they got fed.  Naturally I looked up articles and videos on what and how to feed young birds. I also wanted to know what they and how to care for them.  A call to a nearby animal hospital led me to Fairfax County's animal control services, which led me to Wildlife Rescue League.  I left them a message and moved on to give the babies the little TLC I had barely learned online.

(babies in bush)

(the runt)

Since the temperature was reaching 100 degrees outside, two more hours later I brought the babies in and began to give them a thick mixture of cooked egg yolk, bread crumbs and water.  Unlike the chicks I saw on YouTube, these little ones would no open their mouths, except for what appeared to be the runt .  It was obviously too hungry to follow its species' nature shown by its siblings.  Recalling that I had kept a small syringe in the house for calligraphy ink refill use, I took it out and made a new batch of runnier mixture of cooked egg yolk, cookie crumbs and water.  Mike rushed home at 4 p.m. after I told him that I needed his help to forcefeed the babies.  The following seven hours were filled with pure parental fun: we fed the them every 30 minutes, cleaned their beds, and debated which of them to be named after which of our four children.  I felt a strange kind of happiness that these babies had fallen into our empty nest.

We woke up early next morning.  The babies had slept pretty much through the night and we didn't want to waste time to plump them up.  There was much joy when we noticed a growth of feathers on the biggest one.  Mike said he was happiest seeing that each of them had had a bowel movement.  The more we fed them, the more they'd poo, and the healthier they'd be, we assured each other.  I made Mike stay until 9 a.m. so we could do enough feedings together--Mike was in charge of holding the bird's head steady while I pried open its beak and insert the syringe down its mouth.  Easier said than down, because the bigger two fought hard to have their mouths open or any food put in them.  I had also solicited our daughter Dara to help me feed after Mike left for work. She gladly agreed.

(Babies)

Just as I was savoring being a mother again, Wildlife Rescue returned my call from the previous day and referred me to Nora, a rehabilitator.  Nora heard my story and immediately announced that my babies were chimney swifts, a highly protected species.  She told me that they had to be taken to a specialized rescue center.  While we were debating whether I should keep the babies until Saturday, when Mike would have time to travel with me to near West Virginia, another call came in.  It was Felicia from Wildlife Rescue who wanted to transport them to Blue Ridge Wildlife Center immediately.  Felicia could come in 30 minutes because we should not wait to better prepare them to return to nature.  After I hung up the phone I suddenly realized that I had only 30 minutes to prepare an mini home tailored for chimney swifts (they rest clinging to walls, so the sides and ceiling should be lined with cloth).  Only 30 minutes to say good-bye to my kids!  

The thought that they might starve on the way to Blue Ridge was unbearable.  After putting together their temporary home, I spent the remainder of the 30 minutes trying to given them each enough food.  "Take it for the road," I pleaded gently.   Their last meal with me came too soon.  

Felicia came on time.  She was also transporting another litter of chimney swifts to Blue Ridge.  I hugged Felicia, the second best to kissing my babies good-bye.

(one last feed)

(off to new home)