Not always four legged

Our family has a penchant for running into animals in distress. Maybe, over the years one has got attuned to distress signals. Our vet once asked how was it that only we spotted all these animals that needed rescuing. Well, I really wouldn’t know. Recently when I saw my grown up daughter patiently holding a long scale for a centipede to climb out of a drain- I thought we can be definitely classified as mad, retarded or Nature lover. You can take your pick as all answers are correct!

Believe it or not each animal is fascinating when you get to know them. Last year we diversified from four legged to two. I was in the kitchen when a cacophony generated by a murder of crows drew me to the window. I was horrified to see our dog Yanny (who looks like a crow himself) standing over a baby crow which had obviously fallen out of its nest. I rushed out but others had already taken over the rescue operation. The cage was brought. I managed to pick him up and put him in. We took the cage to the terrace hoping that the parents would takeover. Well, that was not happening. The birds cannot carry away their baby no matter how much they might want to. The baby was promptly named Bertie.

The vet was consulted. He airily told us that we would have to prise open Bertie’s beaks and stuff in food if we wanted it to survive. The food had to go right into the gullet or it would pop out again. He encouragingly told us that in about a fortnight Bertie would be ready to fly. Two weeks! It seemed an impossibly long time particularly in a house flooded with dogs and cats.

Ever optimistic, we decided that Bertie could be fed by his parents if we left him on the terrace. We took Bertie up and sure enough a crow descended all very fierce and ready to attack us! It was Rakshak – the father crow. He could be easily identified as he had a swollen leg as a piece of plastic was tightly tied around it.

The mother followed. Bertie went berserk with happiness and followed his mother hopping on the terrace. To expedite matter we doled out food on various strategic places – hoping Mom would feed Bertie. Mom ate, while Bertie followed her around with its wings flapping and beaks wide open. We waited. And waited. And waited. After Mom had her fill she stuffed her beak with food and flew away to a nearby tree to feed her favourite – a baby cuckoo!

Rakshak observed from a distance. He seemed to shake his head sorrowfully and decided to take charge. Like an inept well meaning father who has to prepare breakfast but doesn’t know how to go about it, he brought something large and slimy for Bertie. He tried repeatedly to feed him without success. Ultimately he gave up and ate it up himself!

The task of feeding Bertie was taken over by my daughters. I chipped in once in a while. One person would have to hold him firmly while another would have to force open his beaks and push the bolus down his throat. All I can say is that it’s an awful task. The same bird who would follow its mother across the terrace cawing and would look so woebegone once its mother flew off, was most uncooperative.

The two weeks and some more days went by. One fine day we came to the terrace and found that Bertie had jumped on the wall and onto the mango tree. He gave us nightmares for some days as he had learnt to fly downwards but not upwards. We could hear crows when there were none. We would rush out to see if he was being attacked by dogs. Fortunately all went well. The parents took over charge completely. The mother fed him with the fattest worms and the cuckoo baby flew away.  For a while we could place him for his clothes were new and he was smaller.

Bertie grew up to be a handsome crow and soon we could not distinguish him from the other handsome crows.

Rakshak of course remained identifiable. As long as we were in that house he would come for his early morning biscuits. He remains one of the factors which makes us regret that we changed our house.  After this experience one looks at crows with indulgence.