Tonight I went out for a run, expecting nothing more than fresh air and quiet. Instead, something tumbled from a tree, landing almost at my feet: a tiny woodpecker.
At first, I thought his wings were broken — he was fluttering helplessly on the grass, unable to lift off. Then I guessed maybe his claw was snagged on something hidden below.
When I knelt down, I saw the truth: a nearly invisible yellow thread had wound itself cruelly around both his feet, his tail, and even his right wing. Carefully, slowly, I began to untangle it — mindful not to hurt this brave little fellow. It was a male downy woodpecker, frightened but calm enough, bravely trying to defend himself with his tiny beak.
The bird was so tiny it fit almost entirely in my fist, with just his beak and tail poking out. I held him as firmly as I dared, yet as gently as I could, while I worked on the thread. I didn’t dare clench my fist, yet I feared loosening my grip—he’d vanish into the thicket and be doomed without help.
I freed the bird's tail and tiny paws, but the wing was another story — the thread was tightly intertwined with his feathers. A lady walking her dog stopped to help, but even together we made little progress — we had nothing sharp to cut the thread, and she struggled to keep her dog away from the bird.
I had no choice but to take the poor fellow home, away from the familiar place. The woodpecker, however, had zero gratitude — he went at my finger with his tiny beak, pecking away as if I were the real villain (luckily, it didn’t hurt much).
At home, the woodpecker and I barricaded ourselves in the bathroom, safely out of reach of the cats. Armed with tools but still working solo, I tried again - no success.
The woodpecker, however, was busy with his own agenda — stabbing my finger with his tiny beak or making daring bathroom escapes.
On the other side of the door, the cats cheered wildly, meowing their support and swiping helpful paws through the gap.
Out of options, I settled the little bird in a crate with food, water, leaves, and even a tiny log — every comfort I could think of, and hid him away in the utility room. He ignored his luxury accommodations entirely — all he wanted was freedom, clinging to the crate lid and pecking at it with determination. Meanwhile, the cats lined up outside, their faces silently screaming, ‘What on earth is happening in there now?!’
Finally, my husband arrived, offering his tool recommendations. The bathroom was quickly transforming into a cross between a workshop and a mini operating theater. With four hands on the case, we had a fighting chance. I sacrificed my finger to the fierce little beak once more to keep him busy, while the lead surgeon inspected every feather for a hidden troublemaker.
Hooray! The damn thing was finally off his wing.
The brave birdie celebrated his freedom, zooming around the bathroom like a tiny whirlwind. He attempted the lamp, found it too slippery, and landed squarely on my head — only to end up in my eager hands again.
Out in the backyard, I settled him on the suet feeder, thinking a snack might tempt him. But as soon as he came to his senses, he vanished into the night.
May his wings carry him into a long, healthy life. 🙏
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