He was hanging by one wing tip from a spider web by my door, seemingly dead. Heartsick, I
disentangled him, and cupped his nearly weightless body in my hand. I had always longed to hold a hummingbird, but my fantasy was to hold one vibrantly alive. Looking at his perfect form and grieving, I almost missed the first slight twitch. Then a breath so small I thought I had imagined it. I rushed him to the garage where I had a heat lamp for the baby chicks, and held him close, stroking his feathers and willing him to live. A prayer for one small hummingbird winged up to God.
His tongue, as fine as a human hair, flicked out. I hurried to the hummingbird feeder and shook out a drop of nectar. I placed his bill so that if that tongue appeared again, it would get wet. And appear it did. Once then again, and again and again. I alternated between the heat lamp and the nectar and my efforts were rewarded when first one, then the other eye opened. He stretched his wings and righted himself on my finger. Those feet, so perfectly tiny, grasped my skin and I couldn't really feel it at all.
He drank and drank from the feeder, then preened his rumpled feathers. It must have been an epic battle with that web. Twice another hummingbird hovered near, I assume it was this ones mate.
For 35
minutes or more I held a miracle in my hand and watched it go from assumed dead to perky and preening, saucy and sipping. I moved him to the lilac bush and watched and he tested his wings, took a practice hover then zoomed away. Magic happens!
He was hanging by one wing tip from a spider web by my door, seemingly dead. Heartsick, I disentangled him, and cupped his nearly weightless body in my hand. I had always longed to hold a hummingbird, but my fantasy was to hold one vibrantly alive. Looking at his perfect form and grieving, I almost missed the first slight twitch. Then a breath so small I thought I had imagined it. I rushed him to the garage where I had a heat lamp for the baby chicks, and held him close, stroking his feathers and willing him to live. A prayer for one small hummingbird winged up to God.
His tongue, as fine as a human hair, flicked out. I hurried to the hummingbird feeder and shook out a drop of nectar. I placed his bill so that if that tongue appeared again, it would get wet. And appear it did. Once then again, and again and again. I alternated between the heat lamp and the nectar and my efforts were rewarded when first one, then the other eye opened. He stretched his wings and righted himself on my finger. Those feet, so perfectly tiny, grasped my skin and I couldn't really feel it at all.
He drank and drank from the feeder, then preened his rumpled feathers. It must have been an epic battle with that web. Twice another hummingbird hovered near, I assume it was this ones mate.
For 35 minutes or more I held a miracle in my hand and watched it go from assumed dead to perky and preening, saucy and sipping. I moved him to the lilac bush and watched and he tested his wings, took a practice hover then zoomed away. Magic happens!
3 comments:
if I couldn't be prouder to be your friend on a normal day! I love you!
btw...my WV is 'unwing' LOL
oh, what a lovely lovely post. Well done for saving the hummingbird. Great photos too.
Wow! That's amazing! I'm glad I know the story behind your profile pic in Dream Boogie now - I saw it and thought - no way! Is that a REAL hummingbird in her hand?? :)
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