Sorry chicken pals, this is about Cap.
Today paid a toll on Caps three remaining chicks. One, who fell from the nest but didn't die(I call him Buffy), had an obviously broken leg. The one I called Flip is the only known survivor, but let me start from the beginning.
When I climbed the ladder and looked in the nest, I frightened the chicks and the flew. Buffy hit the side of the shed and slid to the floor. Flip was luckier, and flew out the door, landing in the yard.
The third chick also made it outside, only to disappear into the thick bushes, never to be seen again.
I rushed down and scooped up Buffy, who settled down and sat in my hand without a struggle.
Then I caught Flip and stroked him until he perched on my finger quietly.
I could not find the last chick.
I did look hard.
Really hard.
Cap was screeching and screeching in a tree. Flip flew to her, or tried to. Falling short, he sat in the grass, peeping.
"Calm down, chickie," I picked him up and boosted him into the sky. He turned in mid-air and landed on my shoulder.
"No! Go to Cap!" This time, he zoomed across the yard and perched in the brush. Cap and her husband swooped over Flip, encouraging him to follow them to safety. He did. I never saw him again.
And Buffy, poor Buffy, with a broken leg and no sense of balance, could not fly and flopped helplessly around.
He died a little while ago.
Well that's the story of Cap's family. I still do not know where that third chick is, or if he survived, but I hope he did.
Flip is most likely going to grow up.
In the words of the author of
Wild Animals I Have Known:
'The reason this story is tragic is because it is true. The life of a wild animal
always has a tragic end.'
