THE UNUSUAL

     Summer is always an unusual time of year at our house.  We live on a beautiful river.  There are usually a lot of fun things to do and a lot of kids around, the perfect scenario for unusual things to happen. 

     This year, though, nothing unusual happened by the time our youngest daughter, Sugar, went to visit her older sister, Sissy, in Miami for a month.  That left just Trixie and me. Trixie is not a fan of the unusual.  It was not looking good for unusual, which, at our house, is unusual.

     I had gotten up at the break of dawn, or as Trixie likes to call it, 9 am. I walked into the bathroom to get a cup of coffee.  There was no coffee in the bathroom so I checked the kitchen.  I poured a cup of coffee and started drinking it just like I usually do.  I burned my lip, just like every other morning.  Then I walked over to look at the river.  There was a great blue heron.  We see them all the time.  But this one was unusual.  This blue heron had an injured wing.  His left wing was just hanging.  If the bird were human, its wing would be hanging at the elbow.  He did not look like he was in any pain.  He just stood there, looking out at the river.  I turned to Trixie and said, “Guess what’s standing by the river?”

     “An injured blue heron,” she answered.  Trixie usually has an answer for everything.  As I opened the door, the heron started to walk away.  So I came back inside.  “Poor thing is going to die.”

     “We should do something,” Trixie said.  So I grabbed my phone and announced that I was calling The Department of Game and Fisheries.  “You are doing what I said you should do?  That is unusual,” Trixie replied.

     The phone rang three times and when someone answered, I explained to them about the blue heron.  They gave me the number for Animal Rescue.  Animal Rescue gave me the number for a Bird Rescue.  They told me to capture the bird, bring it to them, and that they would euthanize the bird.  I could euthanize the bird myself.  I wasn’t trying to kill the bird, I was trying to help it.  That was the last straw for me.  

     I hung up.  I grabbed a fishing rod and walked out the door.  I put a fat juicy worm on the hook and caught a perch on my first cast.  I took the perch off the hook at threw it at the heron.  He backed away at first.  The flopping fish put the heron’s fears to rest quickly enough, though, and he emerged to devour the perch.  Then I caught more.  He ate each one.  I went back into the house and got the camera.  I took a couple of pictures and sat down to eat a pizza and think.  I do my best thinking eating pizza and as a result I am brilliant.  You would think so, anyway.  

     I was on Facebook when a familiar name popped up on my timeline, someone I knew from high school.  She was working at an animal preserve, not very far away.  So I sent her a note and the pictures asking for help.  She replied that if I could catch the bird, she would look it over to see if it could be saved.  I asked if she had any idea how to catch the bird.  She told me that a great blue heron is one of the most difficult birds to catch.  She went on to say that if I could even get close, the bird would try to poke my eyes out with its beak and that their legs are very fragile and break easily, so tackling the bird was out of the question.  She wished me luck.  I am pretty sure she knew I would never be able to catch that bird.  

     Trixie started shaking her head.  She asked me what my plan was.  I told her I was going to talk to the bird.  

     “Like Doctor Doolittle?” she asked.  

     “Exactly. Only I am not a doctor. I am a Mister.  Call me Mister Doolittle. Can you get me a box?  I will be right back,” I said as I walked out the door.

     So I went outside with an old white sheet, one worm, and one fishing rod.  I caught three perch and used them to try to draw the heron in close.  I figured I would use my cat-like reflexes to grab it by the beak as it was eating and then scoop it up, wrap it in a sheet and put it in a box and take it to my friend.  My plans seldom work.  The bird would not let me near it.  So I talked to the bird.  Just me and the bird.  Then it just plopped down on the ground.  And it looked right into my eyes. A look of defeat and desperation and complete surrender.  I knew that look.  I threw the sheet over him, grabbed his beak in one hand, gently scooped his legs up under him, walked back to the house, and went inside.  Just like I planned.

     “I need a box,” I said. 

     “A box?  For what?” Trixie answered.

     “The bird.”

     “What bird?”

     “This bird!” I said, as I showed her the bird wrapped in the sheet.  Trixie screamed like a wife whose husband just brought a three foot live bird into the living room.  

     “I cannot believe you brought a three foot live bird into the living room.  What are we going to do with it?” she asked.

     “We are going to put it in the box and take it to get fixed.  Just like we planned.  Where’s the box?”

     “I didn’t get the box!” she yelled.

     “Why not?”

     “Because there was no chance that you were going to catch that bird you idiot!”

     “Well, the idiot caught the bird and now the idiot needs a box.”

Trixie stood there for a second and glared at me.  It had no effect.  When you get glared at as often as I get glared at, you become immune to glaring.  She said, “Ok, I’ll get a box. Don’t let that thing loose in here.”

     “Grab your car keys too.” I said.

     “For what?”

     “Because we need to take your car to take the bird to get fixed.”

     “My car?  Why my car?” she said as she was looking all over the house for a three foot tall box.

     “In case the bird gets loose,” I said as she returned with a box.

     “That bird won’t get loose in my car because we are not putting the bird in my car.  We are taking your truck.  Where are your keys?

     “Sugar has them.”

     “Why does she have them?”

     “I don’t know.  We could ask her though I suppose.”

     “We can’t ask Sugar, you idiot, she is at school.”

      “Exactly why we have to take your car.”

Checkmate.  We put the bird in the box and she grabbed her keys.

     During the drive, that bird did not make a sound or move a muscle.  We were worried that it may have died.  I called my friend to let her know that we were on our way.  We were greeted at the front gate and then rushed to the bird hospital.  

     “How did you catch the bird?” they asked.  Trixie answered for me, “He talked to it.”

     “You talk to animals?” the doctor asked. 

     “They are usually the only ones that will listen to me,” I answered.  

     “You live in a house full of women don’t you?” asked the doctor. 

     “Yep,” I said.  

     He turned around, took off the rubber glove on his right hand, and shook my hand. 

“Me too,” he said.

     They examined the bird and said it was in very bad shape.  Its wing had been broken for a long time.  It was dehydrated and very thin.  I knew what they were saying.  Birds in this shape usually die.  Well, we did the best we could, I thought.  And then it happened, the most unusual thing in a most unusual day.  My friend said the curator for a marsh exhibit may be interested in the injured heron and gave him a call.  The curator said if the bird could be saved, he would put it in the exhibit.  So, the bird docs set about saving the bird. The bird will never fly again, and while it is unusual for a bird that cannot fly to survive, in this case it was the unusual events that gave it life.

     The most valuable things in life are the most unusual.  Diamonds.  Gold.  True Love. The most valuable actions in life are the most unusual too.  It is unusual to do all you should.  It is unusual to do all you could.  But usually, if you just do the right thing, you will be right.  The bird is doing well.  It seems that I can talk to animals.  My own kids?  Not so much.

 That is all.