TWEETER - An Amazing Sparrow

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One evening, as we were finishing dinner on our deck, we noticed a commotion underneath the roof of the house. A sparrow was flying close to the house, squalking frantically. Then I noticed an object fall from the eaves. I walked over and there, on the ground, was a baby sparrow. I picked it up and placed it in the palm of my hand. It was about an inch long with pink skin, no feathers and a yellow "mouth". My husband quickly got a ladder and looked for a nest. Sure enough, underneath the overhang of the roof, there was the nest. No sooner had he placed the bird back in the nest and removed the ladder, the bird was pushed from the nest and fell to the ground.

I retrieved the baby, took it into the house and immediately called our vet. I was informed that I probably would not be able to keep a sparrow alive. "You can do that with other birds, but not a sparrow," he said. "If you want to try, feed it dog food and water every half hour." As we had three dogs, food was not a problem. It was now eight o'clock at night and I realized that I was going to face a long night. I sat with Tweeter (by now, that was her name) in the palm of my hand,
feeding her as the vet had advised, and telling this tiny bird, "Please, you can make it."

When my husband came into the kitchen the next morning, he couldn't believe that my sparrow
was still alive. As he left for work his advice was, "Get some sleep today." As I was facing a
long day (and night), I decided to call our vet and ask how many nights I would have to stay up to feed Tweeter. I heard a little chuckle on the other end of the phone. His reply was, "Who told you to stay up all night? The mothers don't feed their babies at night." With a sigh of relief, I decided to make Tweeter a little "nest" and try to get forty winks for myself. I searched for the largest plastic container I had, lined it with a hand towel and placed Tweeter in it. She (as I would later learn her sex) was not yet able to stand or walk. I placed the bowel underneath the lights on the kitchen counter. She slept and when she was hungry, she would chirp. I'd feed her and then she would sleep.

The vet called a few days later to see how both of us were surviving. I was very proud of myself and informed him that Tweeter and I were doing very well. I resumed my normal activities as best I could. Tweeter continued to thrive. As weeks passed, her "mouth" started to form into a beak and she started to grow feathers. It was amazing to watch the process. We resumed our normal social life. One night when we returned from a dinner engagement there was Tweeter, sitting on the
edge of the container, very proud of herself and chirping madly. It was now time to buy a cage.

She settled into her new home very nicely. I placed two perches close together and put some knitting yarn into the cage. With the yarn, she busily made a nest between the perches. When she would fly around the kitchen, I would put an open can of dog food on the counter. She would sit on the edge of the can and eat. I made various toys for her to play with. I kept them in a small box near her cage. Tweeter would fly to the box and remove whatever item she wanted. When she was finished playing, she would put the item back in the box. Bath time was an event. Every day she would take a bath in the dogs' water dish. More often than not, the dogs would sit and watch her. When she ws finished she would fly to the palm of my hand and wiggle down to get comfortable. There she would stay until she was dry. In the photo on the right she's getting ready to take a bath.

As the days passed, my husband kept reminding me that she was a wild bird and should be set free. It was something that I didn't want to think about. Tweeter was now a member of our family and I couldn't bear the thought of her being outside and alone. Who would take care of her? Besides, the dogs would also miss giving her a ride on their backs. I knew to release her was probably the best thing to do. So, one warm, sunny morning, in early September, I took her out on the deck and opened the cage door. Timidly she came and sat at the open door.Before I knew it, she flew into the trees. We lived on three and a half acres and I was sure that I would never see her again. I had to keep an appointment so I left her cage on the deck with the cage door open. I cried all the way to my appointment and couldn't wait to get home. I arrived home about four hours later and raced to the deck. Tweeter was nowhere in sight. If I called her, would she hear me? What if I called and she didn't return? Finally I called, "Tweeter." Nothing happened. A little louder, "Tweeter." Then my heart started to skip a beat. There she was, flying toward me from the trees. I put out my hand and she snuggled into my palm. We were both very happy as I took her into the house.

This then became a daily routine. She would go out in the morning and precisely at four o'clock in the afternoon she would be back in her cage, ready to come into the house. As the weather was getting colder, I was reluctant to follow our routine. My husband was, by now, attached to her as much as I was. He thought it was too cold to let her go out. I happily agreed. I felt that her cage was too small to be a permanent home so we went shopping. We bought a cage so large that friends and neighbors referred to it as "Tweeters Condo."

One morning my husband came into the bedroom. "Wait until you see what's in the cage," he said. He would not tell me what was there. "You have to see for yourself," he said. To my amazement, there was Tweeter, sitting on an egg. She sat on it for three days. When it didn't hatch, she carried it, in her beak, to the bottom of the cage. She pecked it open and looked inside. Tweeter was so confused and forlorn. "I'm sorry Tweeter," I told her. Although she continued to lay eggs, that was the last time I let her sit on an egg. As soon as she would lay an egg I would retrieve it. I kept a bowl of four eggs in the refrigerator for a long, long time.

We had Tweeter for almost six years. She gave us so much pleasure. When it became apparent that she was ill, I took her to the vet. Tests showed that she had a tumor. Also, the x-rays showed that every bone in her body had been broken when she fell from the nest. "A very amazing bird," the vet commented. I took her home and did what I could to keep her comfortable. I held her, talked to her and petted her often. A week after visiting the vet, Tweeter died while I was holding her in the palm of my hand. We buried her at the spot where she had fallen from the nest.
My beloved Tweeter. Her memory will live forever in my heart.

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