Escape

One of the downfalls of backyard hummingbird theatre is that hummingbirds are increasingly finding their way into our garage, and unable to find their way out. They hover at the ceiling, beating their wings as they frantically search for a way UP and out. They don't seem to realize that by flying a few feet DOWN they can exit by way of the gaping hole that is the garage door. This morning I discovered that one I thought I had found it's way out last night was still in there, and I tried gently coaxing her out with a large plastic rate. To no avail.

My parents arrived this afternoon to be here for The May Queen's birthday. They came bearing a flowering plant that they knew the hummingbirds would enjoy, and we hung it outside our kitchen window.

Later in the afternoon we saw the hummingbird again. She sat on the garage windowsill, looking out at the back yard and the feeder, chirping frantically, exhausted. My mother walked over to the window. The bird flew up but still pressed against the glass, trying to will her way through to the other side. My mother gently took the bird in her hands, walked to the door, and released her. The bird flew off.

"She didn't poop in my hand," my mother said simply.

How often we do, indeed, poop on the person who is simply trying to help us.