OPINION | MIKE MASTERSON: A bird in hand

Hard to believe February has faded and we are well into March, which means spring is around the corner. Grayish-brown lawns soon will be blooming along with lime-green tree branches.

We also are seeing more birds regularly arriving at our feeders. Every species from robins to cardinals, mourning doves, starlings, sparrows, blue jays and wrens are searching for prime nesting real estate in the branches of hardwoods that pepper our yard. Some are already gathering bits of whatever to create their nests.

And in observing their comings and goings from the back deck, I'm taken back to three vivid memories from years ago when I witnessed just how various birds can amaze me and care for their own.

The first recollection came during my five years in Columbus, Ohio, when early one morning I walked into the kitchen and glanced onto the deck to see a gray mourning dove the size of my fist nestled on the railing between its mother and father.

The three sat side-by-side, staring into the woods behind the house. And that's right where they stayed, undisturbed, as I left for my classes at the university.

Returning, I expected them to be long gone. But no. They were still resting peacefully in the same place. "How odd," I thought. "Why would these three come to the deck railing and decide to sit there together for a day?"

As the sun dropped to just above the surrounding tree line, I looked out again and saw the father was gone. Waiting and watching for a few minutes, it became clear he wouldn't return. Then I watched as the mother began altering her gaze away from her toddler, before suddenly rising into the air and flying away on whistling wings.

Now junior was sitting all alone as darkness was settling.

He remained until the final rays of late afternoon, obviously waiting for their return. Then it must have hit him that this was the day he'd be left to face the world alone and likely never again see his parents. Five minutes later he, too, had forever flown from his family.

I'd managed to snap a photograph of the three as they gently booted junior from the nest that afternoon. I still examine it from time to time.

Several springs later back in Arkansas, I was getting dressed for the day when I heard a "pop, pop" sound from the vicinity of our sliding glass door around the corner.

Looking outside on the cement and beneath the glass, a male and female robin both lay lifeless, facing each other. The tips of their beaks were actually touching, as if in a kiss. It appeared they both had slammed into the glass together at the same moment then fallen into this deeply touching position.

I could hardly believe my eyes as I stood looking down at the feathery couple that still hadn't stirred after several minutes.

With my clothing in place and shoes tied, I walked back to the door for another look. By then, the auburn-breasted male had risen to his feet and stood wobbling over his mate who remained still. I watched as he stared through half-opened eyes, perhaps in pain and disbelief, over what had happened to them so suddenly as they'd flown side by side.

He continued to stand, looking down at his brown life partner for perhaps another 10 minutes. Finally, the unsteadiness left him and he slowly moved around behind her, nudging her feathers with his beak. But it was obvious she would not be getting up.

Like the baby dove in Columbus, he lingered a while. Finally, his head cleared enough to take one final look at her before flying off alone into an adjacent field.

Finally, at that same home in Springdale shortly after the death of my mother, I was loading the car trunk well after dark when a smallish brown bird showed up at the patio door on the side of our house.

Mom had always believed birds possessed spiritual qualities that sometime reveal themselves after a person passes away. She had read (as I have since) about people's often inexplicable experiences with birds during those periods of passing, especially involving cardinals.

This bird, which should have been roosting with his flock rather than flying at night, began flapping furiously up, down and along the glass, as if frantically trying to get inside. Its efforts continued for perhaps 10 minutes until I walked over and extended my open palm, as if to say here, climb aboard, little fella, before you wear yourself to a frazzle.

To my surprise the bird looked into my eyes, then hopped into my hand where it sat quietly for several moments before I stepped to the side of the house and watched it flap off into the night.

Those experiences gave me a new understanding of just how bonded and conscious birds are if we invest time to watch and listen to their behaviors. In these instances, I witnessed poignant love stories coming to their end and perhaps a GodNod that arrived from beyond my understanding.

Now go out into the world and treat everyone you meet exactly like you want them to treat you.


Mike Masterson is a longtime Arkansas journalist, was editor of three Arkansas dailies and headed the master's journalism program at Ohio State University. Email him at [email protected].

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