Castaway the Robin: Mom Horning Story #8
Years ago, when my sons were young,
we had a wild, scary spring storm. Power
lines were downed, tree limbs scattered, and early gardens flattened by
hail. The morning following was sunny
and calm as we emerged from the house to view the damage. Suddenly, one of the boys came running to me,
smiling widely, cradling something small in his hands.
“Can we keep him, Please,
can we keep him?” A newly feathered Baby
Robin looked up at me.
“Better dig him some fresh
worms. I’ll fix a basket,” I said, and
Castaway became a member of the Family.
In and among fallen branches,
shreds of a bird’s nest and two crushed nestlings had been found. We neither saw nor heard from worried Robin
parents. The adoption of the baby was a
Necessity. Almost immediately he
accepted bits of food. He seemed
unafraid and welcomed us, particularly “His founding father.” He peeped, opened his rather big beak and
fluttered his stubby wings. That first
day, he demanded so much attention, but by dusk he quieted down in his tissue
filled box and allowed his new parents to sleep. When digging for worms, his caretakers had
Castaway close by in his box, hoping that proximity to food source would teach
him to search out his own—later.
Castaway’s feathers grew longer and
more abundantly. He stretched his wings,
fluttered, and hopped about in his box.
He became messier and more noisy.
He shook with pleasure during his many daily feedings of
angleworms. Soon, he demanded the whole
worm, not just the pieces dropped into his greedy little mouth. He learned to attack the wriggler as though
he was capturing it himself.
One day as I was digging, he flew
from his box onto my spade. He flew more
and more each day. Actually, it was more
of a jump, wiggle and flop, that became a glide, before the full-feathered
wing-churning flying became meaningful.
Castaway remained in his box during the night, but daylight hours were
spent out of doors in the company of his non-feathered friends, always cheering
us on from spade or shoulder during worm hunts.
As summer lengthened, he
occasionally picked up insects from the garden—testing their palatability. One taste of a large moth, however, had him
shaking his head, rubbing his beak against the grass and doing the Robin
equivalent of “spitting.” He looked
accusingly at me when I laughed. He sure
was Fun to be around.
Then one day, a family emergency
arose and we had to go out of state.
Dear friends, our son’s buddies, volunteered to care for Castaway. We were to be gone—hopefully—just a few days. We arrived home almost a week later—to
disaster. A sad-faced, ashamed,
apologizing neighbor greeted us with the news that Castaway was dead. The baby Robin’s trusting nature had put him
too close to our friend’s frisky red-bone hound. His ending was swift.
His—had
been a Life of giving and getting Love and Pleasure. He brought joy—and has never been forgotten. Castaway was truly our fine feathered Friend.
Touching story of caring for God's creatures! Shows the reward we can enjoy when we fulfill an implied duty of man-in-the-image-of God.
ReplyDeleteThe reason we gain so much joy and self-satisfaction from helping the lost and helpless is that we are all akin. All from the same Creator.
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