Call Me Snake

Yesterday, a small bluebird was in the patio outside my office, standing patiently, it seemed. I soon realized that he (or she) must have been a fledgling that had just left the nest but was not yet able to fly. Over the course of the day, the fledgling moved around a bit, eventually making its way to the driveway. As night came on, my neighbors feared that the fledgling would be eaten by one of the many cats that roamed our neighborhood, so they created a nest with straw, grass, and leaves that they mounted on a fence to provide protection against predators. But the artificial nest was left open on top, so that the bird’s parents could still feed their offspring—or help it in other ways.

When I woke up this morning the nest was gone. I assumed that my neighbors had moved it to give the young bird shelter from the heavy rains. But they had not touched it and had no idea what had become of their nest or of the little bird it contained. It simply vanished without a trace. I hope the poor fledgling is doing well but I fear the worst. And, odds are, I’ll never know what happened to it.