Bird Funeral
June 10, 2026
It happens almost every year; inevitably with some overconfident, wobbly new flier. Of the dozens of birds who come to bathe and drink at this fountain each day, one of them will, on one fateful of those many fledgling days, almost certainly flub the landing somehow and tip over the edge of the wide, hand-chiseled basin stone and into the water below. Chickadees and Wrens, Juncos, Sparrows, Robins, Crows, Towhees, Kinglets, Starlings, Bushtits, Nuthatches, Goldfinches, House Finches and Jays. Squirrels too. All bring their littles to the watering hole, teaching them to drink and bathe, and play, and look out for one another.
And then, dammit, …someone, tragically claims the Darwin Award.
Yesterday it was one of the raucous, young Stellar’s Jays; probably the same one who came zipping around the corner four or five days ago and nearly ran into me (flew into me), veering right while I ducked sideways to the left just inches before impacting with my face. I laughed out loud and he, having somersaulted, mid-air and landed on a branch just above the fountain, hopped down to take a calming drink while continuing to protest my unexpected appearance in his flight path as only a young jay can. He did not strike me as a particularly adept, ‘look where you’re going’ sort of pilot. Somehow the adolescent jays never do.
I found him floating at the back of the fountain, floating face down, bobbing silently on tiny waves. A yellow-jacket, bobbing next to him pulled himself up out of the chill water and slowly climbed up onto his blue-feathered wing. Perhaps this was a clue to the story as it had unfolded; over-eager young jay encounters a watering yellow-jacket, chases this bright-colored, evading meal over the edge and plunks into the water below in hot pursuit. Now both are swimming in the drink, but only one is flailing. That one runs out of steam, aspirates water and succumbs. The other finds just enough energy to climb onto his would-be assailant as a life raft, slowly recovers from this near-death encounter and somehow flies away; a tale with a thousand tellings.
As I lifted his body gently from the water, speaking softly my sadness at his inevitable, final struggles, his body was still almost warm. If only I’d happened into that part of the garden fifteen or twenty minutes earlier, I think.
Sometimes it works out. Well, twice it has worked out over the years when I’ve happened along just in the nick of time, scooped up a tiny, sodden, exhausted flier whom I’ve then wrapped in an absorbent towel to soak up as much of the heat-robbing water as possible and then held it in my cupped hands, speaking encouragements and lending my body’s warmth, then, slowly, as it’s shivering quiets, realigning damp and matted feathers with an old toothbrush.
Few things are more wonderful than holding a little bird as its energies return and its racing heart slows, and finally, with enough energy to fly and a dawning sense that it is free to go whenever it feels ready, it quivers, tentatively and finally leaps into the air once again to ride its wings and fly.
Those who never fly again are offered a different sort of journey in this garden. Each is carefully lifted from the water and wrapped in something absorbent, and then arranged and acknowledged and sent on a very different sort of journey, but celebrated and spoken to, nonetheless.
We get to choose how we show up in the world on those days that we are granted life, yet again. Making time to notice, to honor, to send another being off on the next leg of their journey, whether on wing or within the arms of our shared mother, the Earth.
I’ve only posted up the one small, Rock-Wren glimpse so far from my most recent camping, story-gathering adventures in Oregon. There are several to come: Conversations with Lady’s Slippers and other wild orchids, A Dragonfly Maternity Ward, Lazuli Buntings, A Bluebird family follow-up, surreptitious Bullock’s Orioles and their pendulous, woven nests and even, normally very shy, Yellow-Breasted Chats.
This short, sad tale unfolded just yesterday and of course, took precedence.
Thank you for helping me honor this fallen being.
Such thoughtfulness, and such care. We also had a young flyer, ours a juvenile robin, meet its end on our property yesterday. I wasn't witness to his (her?) demise, only finding the still form on the patio of our sauna. Life comes, and life goes, and we bear witness.
Thank you for your kindness and empathy for the wildlife in your garden. I have been able to help a number of birds, wild and domestic to recover or pass along peacefully. I have a diluted solution of FES -flower essence services, five flower remedy or Bach’s rescue remedy at the ready to administer a drop or two on the beak. The reaction is seemingly miraculous in an instantaneous response. They could be out cold from an impact or shaking, in shock or crying. Once they get a drop or two on the beak I have either seen a change from suffering to calm and then peacefully pass, or they blink a few times, realize they are in a human’s hand and I release them to fly off to the nearest branch. On occasion they need some time to recover and I leave them in a cushy box and within a short period they are ready to fly away. Or I may find they didn’t make it, but they weren’t chirping in agony. It is so satisfying to be able to help them transition from a shocked state to recovery in seconds.