Last weekend I found a bird on the walkway of my place of employment as I was leaving the building. It was a small, green budgie of some kind (sorry, I am no ornithologist – but I did take some pictures of the little thing so if you know I am curious). It had apparently flown into the glass side of the building. At first I thought it was dead, but then it moved.
I checked it out as best as I could. It definitely had a gash on its head, I could sometimes see the crimson of fresh blood staining some of its feathers when it turned its head the right way. It was a goodly amount for such a small thing, but it seemed to have stopped by the time I found it (which could not have been long after it encountered the glass wall of the building) and none had escaped its feathery head. As I examined it, it moved its head about, then it tried to stand. Though it stumbled and couldn’t get up, it did move its body and legs – a good sign. It then flexed its wings to try and stabilize itself.
So it appears it was unbroken, simply dazed and a little bloodied.
I could not stay and watch over it, and I definitely could not take it with me (I live almost fifty miles away, far from this little ones domain. Add to that it takes me an hour or so to get home – traveling with a bird in my car that could recover and panic at any time just seemed a horrific idea); so I first tried to give it a little water – it was uninterested.
I picked it up carefully and moved it from the exposed place it was setting on the walkway to a nearby flowerbed where I placed it under the shelter of a small shrub. It seemed to be regaining its wits somewhat before I left.
I hope it was okay and I hope I did the right and correct thing. It seemed the right thing to do, it still feels right. But only the bird, and the Creator, know now.