In 2012 I raised a starling that had fallen from its nest in the rafters of a barn. The little bird’s eyes were not yet open. Some may call these “trash birds,” but watching this nestling change from day to day was as miraculous as anything I’ve ever experienced. (Also, not being a licensed wildlife rehabilitator, the starling is one of the only species I can legally keep.) Here are some sketches I made of the bird’s development.
The end of the story: On Day 23 during one of many feeding times, the starling squawked loudly when the food was gone. Okay, okay, I said to the bird, I’ll get you more. I failed to latch the cage door tight before walking to the kitchen. When I returned, the bird was gone. Never came back, not even to get a little snack when times got hard. I had hoped for a soft release, the kind where the bird is weaned from being fed, taught to feed on its own. But instead, the release was hard — hard for the bird not prepared to find food, and hard on me knowing that.
