March 2021
Asher was careening down the breezeway just outside our kitchen. Back and forth he went. He chased his favorite yellow tennis ball and then with barely a whisper dropped it…just outside the back door or on the deck. Returning to his post, he waited. Much more patiently than I wait to get a second vaccine or hug my son or return to the studio.
I do a few dishes or begin yet another meal or reward myself with yet another piece of chocolate. I go back outside to find the ball and to praise Asher. "Good boy. Okay, mama is going to throw the ball." The back door remains open and as I go back inside to start this dance again, two tiny hummingbirds fly inside. They soar to the ceiling. Their wings are in constant motion, so tiny as they fly with a whispered flutter of wings I can barely see. They have no trouble negotiating our 11-foot ceilings. I photograph them and capture a shaky video. Asher is oblivious. Waiting outside for me to begin again…the throwing and the hiding and the return. What if the birds can't find their way out? If only I had a map to give them. A map of our ceilings and the wren of rooms they might find themselves in.
"Come on little birdies, look here is the door," I offer. But unlike Asher they don't pretend to even understand what I am asking. Asher doesn't bark at them. He stares and then goes back outside to wait for his yellow tennis ball to return.
One bird leaves, but the other flies relentlessly, perching to rest on a high shelf, and then returning to the whisper of fluttering such tiny wings which I could only see if somehow the ceiling became a magnifying glass. I google "trapped hummingbirds." I open all the windows and wait…
An hour goes by and the hummingbird seems only moderately tired. I wonder if it was his mother or father or sibling or just a friend who escaped and has left him, or her, without a map to find his way out.
The bird negotiates down the hall to our office. It is at the front of the house with large bay windows, and more high ceilings. I open the windows and close the door. Hoping even without a map, he or she will find the exit. I am sure hummingbirds mean good luck and I remember being in Costa Rico with friends and Nico many years ago. We went to a hummingbird preserve of sorts. We were escorted into a small courtyard with trees holding pans of nectar for the birds. They moved among these liquid meals and alighted on our outstretched arms. We could hold a tray to attract a bird. We were told to be quiet and still.
I took Asher for a walk, and when I returned to check on the bird, he was still there. He couldn't seem to find the window, but seemed content to rest on the top of a bookshelf holding red boxes of photographs. They like red, Robert said. He instructed me, having checked on our progress from his office up the street, to make sugar water and to put it on the open window sill.
"Find the red food coloring. And that will attract the bird," he instructed.
Robert came home and we called Animal Care and Control. She said they would send someone as soon as possible. They were very busy, she said. I imagined wild animals roaming the streets of San Francisco, needing to be corralled. To be cared for or controlled.
The bird was tired and hardly moving while perched on the shelf with the red boxes. We decided we must try to pick him up and do what we could to encourage the drinking of red, sugar juice. He seemed to be destabilizing. Robert climbed the ladder, his hands shaking as he was so afraid he would hurt the tiny bird. So light and airy. I started crying, "is he dead? I don't want him to die!" The bird had become like another child. Or a dog. I must save him. I felt helpless and responsible. Robert instructed again and I was grateful to have a task.
"Get the plastic ladle and I will scoop him into that."
The tired bird, now dozing perhaps, allowed Robert to place him in the ladle. My job was to take the ladle with its delicate passenger and bring him out the back door and put him on the table. I covered him slightly with my hands as I maneuvered through the house. I could just barely feel him. Almost invisible, but so present. We had put some of the magic red juice into a bottle cap and before beginning his journey from the top shelf, Robert had placed it under the bird's beak, hoping he would nourish himself. Instead the bird sat in the juice. We wondered if he was ingesting it from behind.
Outside on the table, the bird continued to bathe in the sugar water. We brought more out hoping we could see him drink. We called Animal Care and Control to share the rescue. We were all relieved. And then…the bird was gone. He flew away when we weren't looking. We were so focused on this tiny stranger. Hoping for his survival, shaking as we began the rescue process. And then, he gratefully moved on.