(Note from the Editor: Kay Pfaltz’s Lessons From My Dogs will return next issue. Below she introduces a new voice from Spain, that of her friend Isa.)
Lessons from a Bird: Verdi
by Isabel Guixa González
One morning, I found a little bird in my dog's mouth. I don't think Keko, my dog, was trying to kill him because the moment I said, “Drop it,” he did immediately and the little bird wasn't injured, just terrified.
I put him in my hand and tried to figure out the kind of bird I was looking at. He was petrified—his eyes almost closed and he looked exhausted. He was greenish with a yellow stripe on his wings, so I knew at once he was a verderón, a bird that is only found in Europe. Verderón is the common name in Spanish for that kind of bird, like sparrow in English, and it ended up being his name too: Verdi. Sometimes I called him, my little bird “mi Pajarito.”
I left Verdi in a corner in the hope that his parents would come. I looked up desperately trying to find his nest but there was no nest and no one came for him. It was getting dark and my cats were patiently waiting for me to leave so they could take good care of the bird. I didn't know what to do; I didn't know how to take care of a bird and yet, I just couldn't leave him there all alone. He wouldn't eat and I don't blame him, he was scared and he didn't like the idea of having a gigantic human mamma…. I wouldn't want to be fed by a giant mamma either. But I managed to open his peak with my hands and within a couple of days he would open it by himself.
He stopped being afraid very quickly and we bonded within hours; not only did he accept that I was his only option to survive but I think he also liked me a little, too. His affection seemed to grow. He would sing nonstop when I was around and if I got closer to him, he would move his wings as if he were dancing. I became very attached to him, and we spent a lot of time together, him looking out the window and singing and me working and wishing Pavarotti would stop singing for a second. He was a nonstop singer and after three hours of the same song I would try to convince him to stop. “Hey, Verdi. You are a great singer and that song is fantastic but do you think we could be silent for a couple of minutes?” It never worked—he was such a happy bird.
My cats, however, were most disappointed with me for leaving Verdi locked in a room. They would wait at the door of the room for hours, plotting a plan to get in and make quick work of Verdi. Fortunately, for both of us, and much to the dismay of the cats, that never happened.
In the Verdi’s room, I had a cage. The door was always open, and he would get in and out of the cage whenever he wanted. He liked to sleep inside it especially the first couple of weeks, maybe he felt safe there.
Together Verdi and I lived happily in this fashion, our attachment growing as the days passed. I knew, however, that one day I would have to release him back into the world that was his.
One day, I knew that day had arrived. He could fly and could eat on his own. He was strong and confident and he wanted to go out so badly. He would spend days looking out the window and I knew what he wanted. I knew, too, he had a much better chance of survival than he did when I found him. I told him that I loved him; I wished him good luck, then I opened the window. It took him only a minute to jump and then he flew high until I lost sight of him. I left food on the window just in case. I am still a little sad...I miss him and I hope he survives; I think he will. He didn't come back and this might sound ridiculous but I feel him, I think he is alive, I hope he is alive. I see many birds like him every day and I wonder if he is one of them, I wonder if he remembers me.
I will be forever thankful to Verdi. During his brief stay, he taught me more than most people. One of the lessons he taught me was trust. I find it hard to trust people, and sometimes that makes me unintentionally isolate myself. Verdi trusted me very quickly. I know he had no other option but it was still too quick. He saw almost right away that I wanted to help him. Something great came out of trust, he made me wonder how many good things I was missing out on by not trusting.
The bond with an animal is special, it's a unique feeling that not everyone understands. I never thought a little bird would make me feel that way. I am so grateful he was part of my life.
Isa is an animal-lover, biologist, and biology teacher in Jaén, Spain, teaching kids to respect nature, animals, and all life. You can contact her at isaguixa@hotmail.com.