Joy, Love, and Pain

 1/23/2023 Monday, 7:20 AM

Dreams about femininity were lingering as I realized it was time to awaken. Slipping my robe on, I gathered up my thneeds at the end of the bed and slipped on yesterday's insulated bluejeans. The shirt I woke up in was wet with perspiration, the final end to its use of four days. And my pocket couldn't be found to put my false teeth in, the only clue that my robe was on inside out.

My intuition was that it was late- only for the lighting to be turned on for my pigeons. And when I looked, i was correct. I turned it on and made my coffee.

Making my morning greeting, I noticed the parents were in a bit of a quarrel, and that the baby was laying there in the box. 

Rushing in to check, and fearing it had died, I see that it's okay. Mom hops into the nesting box but dad chases her out. Observing them, they continue doing this and I am curious why? 

Is the father taking the lead or becoming possessive?

Is he trying to strengthen the baby by making it generate more of it's own heat?

Is he jealous of the mother because the other boys are putting on their courting show for her?

Do I need to rescue the hatchling, to take over care and feeding?

Telling myself that I need to pay close attention this morning, I return to the kitchen to start my day.

Is it possible that my dreams were preparing me for what my tasks are?

Maybe I am over-analyzing, over-thinking, and everything's fine or maybe I'm not. My main task is to insure the hatchling survives but a person must not underestimate nature or the instincts of the animal parents.

Reminding myself that they are my focus of study, YouTube could hold the answers. 7:44

6:42 It's been a long day. Soon after my last entry, Brandon showed up from Oklahoma. He came to stay a little while and see if we can work together on a few things. 

The pigeons have been a concern since I woke up, especially after checking on them to find an issue with mom and dad. I could sense a problem, knowing that I needed to learn more about their behaviour. 

They maintained the nesty behaviour but were not keeping the chick warm. Dad didn't want mom coming over by them, pecking at her to get away. Being sensitive, I could feel a problem and made sure to watch as much as I could.

After fighting with the technical issues my devices are having, and setting up the drums, I checked on them again only to find the chick several inches away laying flat, like it was dead. One of the parents in the box with it, the other out and near by, I went in the pen to see. 

The chick was cold and lifeless in my palm. There was no slow movement of breathing or heart beat, just cold. 

I cupped it with both hands to warm it and rub the life back into it by massaging it to stimulate breathing and heart beat. I rubbed, warmed and prayed for it to come alive- hoping and hoping.

This was my only task- watch out for this to happen, and now it's dead. And, I knew before I opened my eyes that I had to be especially sensitive right now. 

Tapping, rubbing, slow, hot breaths from my mouth... I hoped and hoped it would live. It's my very first baby to have and to train! It's the start of the demonstration in the neighborhood. 

Oh, how could it be dead?

And then it moved it's beak a little bit.

It was opening and closing slightly as it tried to fight for life! It began breathing and moving a tiny bit.

It was so weak.

The crop has food in it, so it was being fed.

Is it sick, I wonder?

Scrambling around for an incubation method, I had Brandon get a cage and heat lamp, while I warmed the 

chick in my hands.

It was looking like it was trying hard, and maybe was okay as I laid it in the nest box under the light.

It was breathing and in a sleeping appearance.

I wondered if I went in there too much, making them reject.

Already, I had decided not to touch it until the eyes opened in the 8 days that it takes. 

Brandon played a beautiful song on one of the guitars, while I watched the bird in the box. 

The hatchlings body made a bit of movement while it breathed, and it's heart pumped. Everything looked 

good, as I worry about giving it a squirt of water in the crop.

And then it stopped moving. No breathing or twitching. No movement of the beak or neck. 

It was lifeless.

Grabbing it up in my hands, I refuse to let it die saying, "no, no.. you can't die on me!"

I held it, and held it for several minutes, and finally took it upstairs to Julie.

My throat began to choke up as I fought back tears for this tiny pigeon in my hands.

"Julie, I think it's dead and gone," I said while the tears filled my eyes.

Rushing into the bathroom, tears flowed down my face, forcing me to remove my glasses.

In disbelief, crying over a stupid bird.

"It's not a stupid bird, " I said out loud.

Now, it lies rolled up in a paper towel on the storage cabinet, where I'll check it later to see if it's still dead 

rather than go out now to bury it in the yard with my sadness.

My consolation prize is the Archangels, and their two eggs that they nest on. it doesn't take away the shame 

and blame I feel I deserve. After all, I have 8 birds to take care of. And, I just let one die that I knew might 

happen, so how can I think I can care for the 8 when I knew the new one needed my special attention? 

That's all I can say for today, considering the disruption in my routine. 

Joy, Love, and Pain (song link) all go together. You can't expect to have any one of those things without the others. 7:22