For the Woodpecker

Near the street just past the end of my driveway this morning, a little dark spot moved about in the pure white snow, struggling to stay aloft. Dropping my shovel-- mindless of my sneakers and pajama pants-- I rush through the foot deep powder to see what it was.

I hesitated a moment as I neared, hoping I wouldn't find a rabies infested baby raccoon or squirrel. It looked like a bird. It continued struggling sinking its little body deeper and deeper into the snow as I approached. I knelt down and dug my gloved hands down about six inches. I felt a little body jump away. I scooped the snow out from around it to reveal a small bird.

The bird had a proud red crest and beautiful black feathers with little white flecks all over its body. He was a woodpecker-- insert mental image of that amusing cartoon scamp Woody the Woodpecker and you have a vague idea of what he looked like.

As I looked into my hands at his tiny shivering body I watched the fear in his little eyes melt into trusting appreciation. He's going to be okay.
Prize in hand, I began to trudge back across the yard to the small patch of driveway by my back door that I had already shoveled. The walk seemed longer this time but the little woodpecker kept me amused by hopping from my hands to my arm and then up to my shoulder where he perched until I got to my porch.

Bewildered by my find, I wondered what I should do with him. His little wings were wet and he didn't seem to be able to fly at the moment. As I pondered where to put him, he took matters into his hands-- I mean wings-- and flitted off my shoulder onto a chair and then hopped down and hid in a corner just out of reach. After searching the porch for hazards, I decided to let the little guy remain where he wanted, at least for the moment.

My family has a blood-thirsty cat that my mother calls Lunar. I prefer to call this beast Lunatic or Psycho depending on how she acts that day. Needless to say, I feared this beast would tear this little snowbird apart as she has done to so many little unsuspecting, undeserving creatures.

I called into the kitchen to my mother who was preparing to help me attack our driveway and blast away the small snow crag that had been strategically placed by a passing snowplow. She nearly let the beast out as she hurried out to help. I yelled at the cat and it turned around. (It does that because it has to or I don't stop until it does. Who says you can't train cats?)

She looked at my little woodpecker and decided that we should let him dry off on the porch where it was a little warmer than outdoors and then let him get back to his tree. My dad soon came out and said that we should make the poor little thing stay outside or it would get panicky and get stuck in there.

Begrudgingly, I tried to shoo him out the door. He had other ideas. By this point, the little guy had somehow managed to climb up the brick wall to the ceiling and was attempting to peck at the molding. So we locked the cat in the house with strict warnings to my sisters-- okay, threats-- not to let it out, left the outside door open and hoped the smart little guy would dry off and wander out.



Not so. By the time we finished shoveling out and returned to the house, the woodpecker had made himself quite at home high on the brick wall. He hid his proud little face from us and still (unsuccessfully) tried to peck at the molding.

I wanted to watch him until he decided to leave but as we all know Commerce Bank is never closed so off I went with my father sliding along at 2 mph to America's Most Convenient Bank to help answer the phone telling customers who didn't plan to come in that we were in fact open despite the snow.

Finally the end of the day arrives and I happily accept a ride home from a coworker with an SUV. Excitedly, I walk up my driveway and hurry into the porch.
He's gone!

I go back outside to look for him in a nearby tree. Nothing. Hmm... maybe he's hiding...
I head into the house where my mother greets me with a sullen face.

"I'm sorry he died."

"You let your cat kill my bird?"

"No... He started to look a lot better and started moving towards the door. Then he seemed to take a turn for the worse."

Pause. That split second lasted at least a minute to me.

"I'm sorry Meg, he got to the screen and sat on it, shat on it, and then I think his little body froze there. I found the cat staring up at him but she couldn't reach him."

"Why did you let the cat out? It scared the poor thing to death! No doubt Psycho was waiting for the little woodpecker to fall so she could bat it around. Where is he now?"

"He's outside in the trash can... he's the only thing in there except some shredded paper."

Dejected, I glared at the evil cat sitting prim and proper on the porch as I slammed the door before she could get near enough to go in. I went to the trash can and peered to see if mt sweet little friend was really there.

And so he was. I paused a moment hoping that he was just playing dead and would fly up and out of the trash can. I kicked the side of the can gently hoping he'd wake out of his slumber and start moving about.

Nothing.

His lifeless body lay atop a pile of shredded bills and credit card statements, still beautiful and proud but no longer hopping about as he had been only hours ago.

Why do I share such a sad story? Because it happened.