http://www.flickr.com/photos/slingher/2910442292/

In the neighborhood, I am known by the kids as the bird lady. So when they found a jay in distress a few days before Easter, they ran to get me.

The jay had tangled with a piece of fishing line and, in his anger, had managed to wrap the line tightly around his neck so that he was strangling. He had wriggled into the center of a bush, as all birds do when they know that they are dying and want to die in peace without being prematurely eaten by a cat while still alive.

The next door neighbor man managed to get his hands around the bird so brought him halfway out of the bush. I sent my daughter running to get my bandage scissors, and I worked it under the line and cut it free. Instantly, the jay pecked the hell out of my neighbor’s hand. He happened to be this really cool native guy who flinched but hung on to the bird.

My backyard tribe of jays was jaying and swooping over us, sure that their friend was as good as dead if he fell into human hands--an assumption that is true in most cases. However, these hands were mine.

 http://www.flickr.com/photos/ciloisin/

He transferred the jay to me, and I held him close up against my heart with both hands which gave him no room to fight me. Leaving the crowd of excited children, I brought him to my Garden-of-Eden backyard where I sat in my rocking chair for a long time as both our hearts slowed. I’ve learned that animals can sense our emotions so have been able to closely approach many of my wild relations by simply holding in my mind unharmful, peaceful thoughts. After he was calm, I examined him and saw that he had actually broken his tongue in half during his struggles which hung uselessly out of his beak.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/crinberry/ 

We are lucky to have the best wildlife rehabilitation place in the state, so I took the jay there. They said they would call if he recovered, but I held out little hope because of his injury, so I was surprised when they called me three days later to tell me that he was ready for release. Apparently, he could still eat and drink even with the injury.

We all assembled in my yard for the big release. The neighbors, who were Buddhists, stood behind me and waved prayer flags as I opened the box, and the jay flew to my Doug Fir tree. Instantly, the jays surrounded him but were silent. This jay, who they had mourned for three days as dead, was suddenly and inexplicably alive. When he jayed, they erupted in joyous jaying and flight.

I often think of this jay at Eastertime, wondering if the succeeding generations of jays have retained a memory of how life can be lost and yet be miraculously regained.

Happy Easter Everyone!