They brighten our world with their songs and antics. Notes from the bird world and possibly, lessons for human granddaughters
Ten Minutes of Life
It was a sultry day in June when jobs, relatives and sundry drove me to distraction. Life, I decided, would be put on hold. To that end I fetched an iced tea and summoned the two dogs to join me on the front porch so we all could sit and watch a blossoming June garden. Miniature roses sparkled in the garden’s far corner and the iced tea was cool and sweet. It was a fine place for life to go away but little did I know that a few seconds beyond that first sip of iced tea I would be treated to a dose of life that would encompass nothing less than love, hate, humor, death, fear and the meaning of it all. Heady stuff yet it happened within a ten minute period and I can still recall that afternoon vividly; this, a full five years after the incident. It’s become a memory into which I retreat when I need a vacation from life. Or at least my warped definition of same.
I heard the robins “barking” somewhere on the side of my brain. The black-eyed Susans were beginning their bloom and required my concentration. The robins’ barking got louder and I mentally vowed that after I inventoried the black-eyed Susans I would study the cause of the robin noises more intently.
I saw the snake before I could locate the robins.
It was a big one, I noted from my porch perch. I guessed it to be about two feet long, a sleek black reptile of the snake species so prevalent in my area. Black snake is the simple name for them, long, ebony non-venomous snakes that were, truth be told, a gardener’s greatest friend. They eat moles and voles and other disgusting predators of the plant roots. Black snakes also prey on nesting birds, an egg or partially formed embryo within being one of their most favored of foods.
The snake inched along on the top of the chain link fence. I marveled at its incongruent beauty, a long elegant creature, its shiny black back shining onyx-like in the sun. The barking robins did not think the snake was so beautiful, however, and my brain kicked back into gear. Of course! The robins had a nest in my neighbor’s Rose of Sharon bush. I’d been observing their nesting activity right from the start. The male delivered hay and grass while the female accepted the jetsam and rejected the flotsam. The chastised male would fly away quickly those times when he delivered nesting materials not to the female’s liking. I’d watched the male deliver food to the female as she incubated the eggs and at that current time I knew that the eggs had hatched. All day, hot, cold or rainy, I’d watch those robin parents flying in food to the nest non-stop.
That snake, I, as well as the robin parents, knew, was too close to those nestlings. My body froze in place as the options and decisions presented themselves to me in rapid-fire fashion.
I’d always taken a “hands-off” approach to these eco-garden dramas. Nature did a pretty good job of things up until my birth, or so I figured, thus I let it continue on without much intervention. Of course the weeds had to go and I greatly encouraged my compost pile. Still, I kept human intervention to a minimum, deferring to nature and my own laziness. Snakes regularly assaulted the many nests on the lot and I’d never interfered.
But this was a bird’s nest that I’d watched for the past three weeks. I’d grown so attached to those hard-working bird parents. I was supposed to watch their children be killed right in front of my eyes? Those robins were fighting that snake mightily. The male was attacking it from every angle possible. The female also was attacking the snake. Females only defend a nest when danger is immediately upon. Which it most definitely was that June afternoon. The robins were doing a yeoman’s job, too. By joining forces, the robins were effectively preventing that snake from making a right turn that would head it directly to their nest. If they could keep that snake on top of the fence it would not endanger the babies.
Then my little dachshund got into the act and it was at that moment that I simply had to get involved with the snake battle. For if there is any animal unafraid of snakes it would be the dog. The elder dog also saw the snake but arthritis prevented her intervention. The dachshund, however, thought the snake on the fence to be really neat. He marched over to the fence and proceeded to bark the dickens at the snake. Which caused the snake to make the dreaded right turn for the wise reptile had decided the barking dog to be more annoying than the pecking robins.
The snake was heading directly towards the robins’ nest and it was all because of my dog. Ethical arguments left my head as battle plans entered. The robins’ nest was in my neighbor’s yard on the other side of the fence. How was I going to get over there quick enough to divert that snake away from the nest? I mentally measured the fence and quickly determined my plus size body was not up to climbing over. Which would mean I’d have to run up to the top of the lot, open my neighbor’s gate, and go back down to drive the snake away. And with what, I asked myself, was I going to prod the snake? The compost pile-pitchfork hung in front of my eyes so I grabbed it. I was fully galloping up the lot when I realized I had on my nightgown and bedroom slippers while hauling that pitchfork on a mission. There were also the curlers in my hair.
I forgot about the dachshund that followed behind me for the adventure.
There followed a jousting match between woman, snake and dachshund that defied even he wackiest of I Love Lucy. I pitchforked the snake to the left, the dachshund chased it right. Meanwhile the robins were so confused that they were attacking everything, including, sadly, a sound peck to the dachshund’s behind. I flailed at the birds about my head, screamed at the stupid dog to get out of the way, poked at the snake in between, and out of the corner of my eye, noticed several neighbors gathering at the street level.
It was the snake that turned out to be the wisest of all. The creature decided it was time to head down slope and far away from this crazy crew. When all is said and done the poor thing probably only wanted to bask in the rays of the afternoon sun on a warm fence top. It likely had no idea of any robins’ nest nearby as it had originally not been heading in that direction. It was the dog and the crazy human woman with the curlers that messed things up.
The neighbors still give me a hard time about it but in my mind I saved the day. My dog thinks he saved the day, chasing off that snake like that. The elder dog thinks she contributed greatly with her accompaniment of fine barking during the entire episode. My husband took my pitchfork away.
I still consider it the afternoon I took a vacation from life to be confronted head on with … life.
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