Hive mind helped identify the stray fledgling we found in the street this morning — it’s a mourning dove.
Once I knew it was a species my local rehabilitator would accept, I gave her a call. By then we’d already brought the chick inside because it was shivering a lot. I sent pictures. She wondered whether it was sick or injured at all and suggested putting it back out near where we found it. So we did.
Hours passed and nothing much happened, though at one point we saw an adult dove on the telephone wire. I called the Bird Lady again. “It’s either settled down to sleep or to die. I can’t tell.”
She suggested we bring it to her after all. When we went outside to gather the fledgling up, a mourning dove was calling from nearby. What if it was the chick’s mother? Were we doing the right thing?
But north and west we went. It was 6:30 pm so traffic really sucked, but never mind. I honestly was relieved to not be watching the rest of (recorded) Nicole Wallace. Enough already.
I’d been to the Bird Lady’s house once before. Sure enough, up a windy wooded road, left at two forks, across another road and then fifth house on the left with the white pick up truck. She was outside wearing grubby white shorts and a loose tshirt. Eccentric but knowledgeable. She identified the bird’s age (just shy of fledgling) by turning its wings over and examining feather development.
She immediately determined that the bird was sick. It wasn’t warm enough. It had poop stuck to its rear. It was opening and closing its beak as if gasping for air.
Pneumonia? She will warm it up and give it antibiotics. I was almost relieved it was sick because it meant we’d done the right thing by interfering. I hope it survives.
