You say Missouri
out West. Urban prairie bound,
I say Missourah.

The Robin Drama

The first baby robin was already dead when I found it on the wet ground early in the cool, damp morning.

I had seen the momma robin in her nest high up in the pear tree outside the kitchen window, ill-formed from numerous botched prunings.  The foliage is thick in the middle but the majority of the canopy has been sheared away.  She would come in and out of view on breezy days as the minimal outer branches swayed around her.  She almost appeared to be bobbing up and down in the movement like she was in a small boat on a wavy lake.  I had wondered about her and her nest, but acknowledged that a robin’s wisdom is impenetrable to me.

I was surprised by how far the baby was from the nest.  It was on the ground at least 10 feet away under a completely different tree.  The week had been full of thunderstorms with heavy downpours and steady winds.  I assumed the baby had been blown from the nest, although I suppose it was also possible it had fallen and been swept along on or near the ground.

When I found the second baby robin, I began to get worried.

I found the baby on the ground directly below the nest.  It had almost no feathers, its eyes were closed and it huddled motionless on the ground.  It was a nestling:  a baby too young to leave the nest.  They lack mobility or the ability to vocalize.  But if you touch a nestling it will thrust its head up and open its mouth in a wide maw to receive food for a second or two before retracting it back into its huddled position.  I had no idea of what to do.  After reading numerous articles online expressing a wide range of opinions of whether or not to rescue a baby bird, I had little guidance to go on.  The best option is to return the baby to the nest, but the nest was far too high for that.  I alternately worried the baby would starve, dehydrate or die of exposure to either the cold ground or too much sun.  I watched and fretted and watched some more.  The robins appeared to be tending to the baby throughout the day.  I discouraged Otto from going near the area easily as he seemed unconcerned with the bird.  I left it alone until nightfall and then built a little nest of Kleenex in a tissue box and tucked the baby in.  I left its makeshift nest on the ground and covered it with a large box to prevent predators from finding it.  I assumed the baby wouldn’t make it through the night without its parents to tend to it.

In the morning, I found the baby alive.  It had defecated in the tissue, which I took to be a good sign.  I gently removed the soiled tissue (wide maw opening towards me) and replaced it with clean, then set the tissue box where I thought the robins would find it.  I watched anxiously out the window, but the robins didn’t seem to be interested in investigating the box.  I would go out and pull more and more of the tissue away (wide maw opening each time) in hopes the robin would see the baby and continue feeding it.  I worried the baby would starve.  And I also worried that if I removed the baby from the “nest” that it would die of exposure.   After a couple of hours of fretful viewing out the kitchen window, I became increasingly convinced that the robins couldn’t find the baby.  Its hopes for survival seemed equally bad no matter what I did, but starvation seemed slightly more certain if the parents couldn’t find it to feed it.  I thought if it could survive one more day (as it had the previous) I would box it up again at night and perhaps we could all work in some unspoken cooperative effort toward saving this baby.  So I made the grim decision to put the baby back on the ground, open to the elements, but hopefully in view of its parents.

The baby huddled on the ground, eyes closed, motionless.  I looked at it feeling sickened by my callous cruelty.  Then I went inside to resume viewing through the window.

The robins strutted around in the vicinity of the baby, digging worms and then strutting on out of view.  It was hard to tell if they recognized the baby or were tending to it.  Yesterday they had clearly been feeding it.  Today they seemed to be wandering in a less directed fashion once they had acquired food.  I was helpless to intervene further.  I knew there was nothing I could do.  I told myself they were probably feeding it in the times I wasn’t looking out the window (which were ground increasingly less frequent, by the way) and that I had to let go of the idea that I could significantly alter the course of the baby’s life.

I was looking out the window when the baby robin died late in the afternoon.

I know it was the moment the baby died because its whole body convulsed and pitched the baby head first into the ground.  It was as gruesome and awful as it sounds.  I was unprepared for this cold and grisly ending, and promptly started to cry in the wake of this realization of how life just disappears.  Death from starvation and exposure is not a painless drift into an indefinite sleep.  It is a struggle and a breaking.

What do we do when confronted with suffering we can’t ameliorate?  Do we intervene with only incremental efforts even if we know the outcome is irrevocable?  Are our good intentions enough?  Is it meaningful and relevant simply to care? Does it matter that we can’t change the course of events, if we can bring some respite, even in minor degrees, from discomfort and distress?  Does it matter if the recipient recognizes us as a friend or protector?  It is easy and not easy to turn away…easy and not easy to try and do something.  No effort feels like enough and yet simultaneously all efforts seem futile.

I put the baby back in the nest of tissue in the small box, covered it, and threw it away.

I turned to go inside and saw Otto staring intently into the hedge along our screened back porch.  Staring. Locked gaze on something in the hedge…

“Leave it!”

The command was like the untoward release of a spring, and in the exact opposite motion of what I commanded him to do I saw Otto lunge forward with a warning snap of the jaw and I heard a shrieking squawk.  There on the ground was a fledgling robin…eyes wide open, covered in feathers, and squawking its alarm.

No sooner had the squawk left the baby’s throat, then the parent robins began shrieking and swooping towards Otto and the fledgling.  Something primal in Otto’s brain snapped and he went into a frenzy of barking and chasing the parent robins.  He would not respond to any command and ducked every effort of mine to catch him.  He alternated between chasing the parents and rushing back towards the fledgling which had started bizarre wobbling trek out of the protection of the hedge into the lawn.  The few minutes it took me to get him into the house seemed interminable.  Panting and shaking, I looked out the kitchen window.  The parents were still calling the alarm and the baby continued to wobble across the yard.  At one point, I went out to check on it and found it in the middle of the lawn.  The parents squawked angrily at my scrutiny.  I went back in the house and the parents continued to call the fledgling until well after dark.

When I went outside in the morning, the robin’s entire broken nest was on the ground where it had finally fallen from the tree.

I searched but could find no other baby robins.  Nor could I find the fledgling.  I kept Otto leashed but felt unsettled not knowing where the fledgling was.  I went back inside and resumed my watch at the window.  I hoped I could catch the parents feeding it and determine its location.  My strategy worked.  By mid-morning I witnessed the parents going over to a patch of long grass and a little robin head thrust itself out with a wide maw for food.  I knew where the fledgling was and I had a plan.

I emptied out a hanging planter of its plants and most of its soil and placed the robin’s nest in the bottom.  I then found the fledgling and placed it in the nest in the planter and set it on the ground where the baby had been hiding.  I went back in the house and waited for the parents to find and feed it.  They figured out the new situation quickly and with this small success I felt by the end of the day that I could hang the planter in a new tree and the parents could continue to card for this fledgling in this new location.  With great relief, the parents were able to adapt to this new situation for their offspring and within a few days the fledgling and parents were gone.  I wouldn’t have guessed the fledgling was big enough to fly, but as I said before, the robin’s wisdom is impenetrable to me.

I would be leading my readers amiss to not acknowledge that at the end of this I felt more prepared to answer some of the hypothetical questions above.

If you can return the baby robin to the nest, do that.  When something catastrophic happens, it is best to be back home with family that can take care of you.

If you can’t return the baby to the nest, get the baby off the ground into something nest-like.  We all do better when we don’t sleep on the ground and we have some structured material to keep us warm and safe.

If the baby is too young to survive without parental attention for long, don’t worry and overthink.  Do the second option and get the baby off the ground, warm and safe.  Maybe the parents will find it and maybe they won’t.  Even if that is all  you can do, it is enough.  It is something.  It is more than nothing.  And no matter how bad or sad the ending, it might just be a little less bad and a little less sad because you expressed your care and took action.

photo (2)




The vet tech said Otto was “not well cared for” by his previous owners.

Otto was picked up as a stray by Leawood Animal Control in Kansas and taken to the State Line Animal Hospital for boarding and care.  He was not neutered and wearing a worn black harness without ID tags or microchip.  The hospital holds stray animals for a trial period before spaying or neutering and putting them up for adoption.  No one came to claim Otto.

Otto was 17 pounds when he was picked up which put him close to 20% below his target weight.  When we went to pick him up at the hospital, where he had been living for a month, he weighed 18 pounds.   You could see his ribs, all of his vertebra, and his hip bones.  His coat was so thin that he couldn’t be clipped short in a standard grooming cut because his skin would show through.  Otto was essentially missing his “wire” coat:  the thick, coarse hairs that gives structure and weight to his fur.  The vet techs said that Otto found life in the hospital very stressful and they had a hard time getting him to eat.  Because of the deplorable condition of this teeth, the vet had estimate Otto to be approximately 8  years old.

It is not unusual for skinny, ragamuffin strays to be picked up without tags or ID.  And not even that unusual for them not to be neutered.

But Otto is clearly 100% purebred schnauzer.   And even in his poor condition, he is very, very handsome.

Purebred + not neutered + bad condition + old age + stray = breeder’s dog dumped when too old to be of use

Sounds pretty harsh, doesn’t it?  It is not uncommon in the mid-West.   If you find this difficult to believe, there is more…

The vet techs were correct about Otto being a skittish eater.  At first he appeared finicky:  he’d approach the bowl slowly, sniff just over the rim and then turn and walk away, usually to go curl up in bed.  I would have to coax him back into the kitchen repeatedly and even hand feed him some kibble before he would stay at the bowl and eat.  And even then he might only eat a portion of the food before voluntarily walking away from the bowl.  And there were other strange signs.  Otto never asked for food.  Not first thing in the morning nor in the evening.  He never begged and he never looked for dropped food on the floor.  If you stood in front of him holding his bowl and turned away even slightly, Otto would leave the room and curl up in bed.  Any distracting movement or noise in the kitchen and Otto would leave.  He wouldn’t come back for a second try on his own.  He would just go back to sleep.

Otto had no expectation of being fed.  And Otto had no comprehension of food belonging to him.  Which meant that Otto had most likely never been fed on a regular schedule and had probably been intimidated while eating.

Otto didn’t know the word “cookie”.  And he did not appear to understand being given a cookie, showing reluctance and leaving the cookie on the floor the first time until encouraged to eat it.  Otto had never eaten anything that wasn’t kibble.  He didn’t recognize apples, carrots or other fruit and vegetable tidbits and would leave them alone unless encouraged to eat them.

Teaching Otto to sit before eating resulted in a anxious bowing, scrabbling, grovelling gesture that would have been tremendously funny if it hadn’t been so grotesquely sad.

While Otto was slow to grasp the practice of consistent eating, he immediately found his place with his bed.  A plush bed with a thick curved bolster and a reflective layer to generate heat, it is a possession Otto covets.  Next to his bed, his most favorite thing is “hugging”:  Otto likes to be picked up with both paws around  your neck and his whole body pressed against you.  An anomaly in a dog, who typically merely tolerate hugging, Otto craves a hug shortly after breakfast and in the evening.  Truth be told, Otto will take any cuddling anytime he can get it.

After a month, Otto gained 3 pounds and his coat grew back in thick and shiny.  His bones are now covered with a layer of sleek muscle.  He loves running top speed around the yard and monitoring the fences that look out onto the street in front.  He is a brave protector.  He has a home and a duty and a family.  He is safe and loved.  And he starts doing the “dinner dance” half an hour before he is fed…right on schedule.  He sits up straight and tall to “earn” his dinner and eats the whole bowl without looking up.

It is easy to fall into habitual patterns of questioning thoughts about the past:  was that a good decision?  should I have taken a different course of action?  where would I be in my life if I had gone down a different path?  Otto reminds me that I needed to do everything that I did in order to be here with him, to rescue him, and to bring him into a home that would help him overcome his past.  A past of being unwanted, unloved and uncared for.  Of being neglected and abused. Of being vulnerable to strangers. Of being homeless and without family.  None of these alter that Otto is worthy of love and belonging, with his own love to share.  And that in return, so are all of us, regardless of our past choices or the directions our lives have taken us.