When a bird flies into the window of a home it is likely to fall to the earth, shake its head tentatively, and then resume flight. If the impact is of sufficient force, of course, it may cause instant demise. Having seen this happen, I was puzzled when I saw a young bird sitting unmoving on the wooden walkway in front of our patio doors. An hour later, I was surprised to find it had not moved. It appeared to be in a state of stupor and I guessed it must have struck the glass hard enough to become disoriented. At this time it was still in shade, but I knew if it didn’t move the scorching heat of the Hedley sun would soon sap any strength it still possessed. I felt uncertain as to how I should respond to the bird’s dilemma and drew Linda’s attention to it.

Fortunately she remembered that our 83 year old neighbour, Frank Schroeder, is an avid birder. He has worked in federal prisons and has been a successful realtor. But his great unwavering interest over the years has been observing birds. Linda put in an SOS phone call to him. Instantly intrigued and concerned, he dropped what he was doing and knocked on our front door in under 5 minutes.

Not wanting to frighten the bird, he approached it slowly, speaking in soothing tones. Fearing he was a predator, the young bird willed itself to take a few steps, but then lost its balance and tumbled off the walkway. Frank’s large hands encircled it and he cradled it gently.

“It’s very young, a meadow lark,” he said, examining the little creature. “This may have been it’s maiden flight. Possibly it hasn’t yet really figured out how to fly, or it may have just got lost.”

I observed that he was entirely comfortable holding the bird. “My fascination with birds began when I was six years old,” he explained. “We lived on a farm and I had been watching the young swallows sitting on the rim of their nest, built against the end wall of our barn. They were not yet willing to take flight, but I decided the time had come for them to venture out.”

It was evident Frank’s mind was reliving this earlier scene. “I leaned my dad’s ladder against the end of the barn. Due to a growth of bramble bushes, I needed to place it almost straight up. I climbed to the nest, removed one of the little ones from its perch on the rim and tucked it into a pocket. This really rattled the parents. They began buzzing me, beating their wings hard against the back of my head. When I inadvertently pushed the ladder and myself away from the barn wall, I suddenly found myself launched backward into the air and landed in the prickly bramble bushes. Fortunately I suffered no broken bones. More important, the baby swallow wasn’t injured. My pride was the only casualty.”

Frank departed, still holding the infant meadow lark in his hands. I called him the following morning to check on his patient. “In the evening yesterday,” he reported, “I placed it in a box on a chair where no preying cat could reach it. I put water and food in the box. This morning when I came out onto my porch the bird had managed to fly to the top of the backrest of the chair. I went inside to have breakfast. When I came back out, the bird had flown down and was on my sidewalk, seemingly waiting for me. It glanced back, as though it knew me. Then it flew into some bushes and was gone. I consider it a successful rescue on our part.”