Let Me Share a Little Story of Hope

Some years ago, I was living in an old cottage, on a farm in France. One day, driving back from the boulangerie, I spotted a tiny bird in the lane, just by my house. I stopped the car and, using a towel, picked it up and placed it gently in the hedgerow.

The following morning, I heard a strange noise at my front door, and when I opened it, I saw the little bird sitting on the doormat, wet and, obviously, cold. In the dark evening, I had thought it was a baby pigeon, but it was a tiny kestrel.

I didn’t know what to do but thought he was probably very hungry, so opened a small pouch of cat food and, using a pair of tweezers, fed the poor little thing as it sat helplessly with its mouth wide open, hungrily eating the food.

I was afraid to bring it in, as I thought if it could gain some strength, it might be able to fly. So once again, I wrapped him in a towel and carried him to the hedgerow, hoping by morning he would have flown off.

Losing the Battle?

In the morning, he (it may have been a she as it is difficult to tell when they are so young) was back outside my door, so I fed him again. For two more days I continued to feed the bird twice a day. However, it had rained most of the time and he was soaking wet … I began to feel we were losing the battle.

Taking a chance, I picked him up in a soft towel, gently rubbed his feathers, and put him in a warm place inside the shed. I gave him his supper, left a little water, and said a silent prayer.

The next day, I was reluctant to open the door. I had become so fond of this little creature, who was brave enough to seek out help from me. I braced myself for what was, probably, to come.

On the Mend

However, instead of the scrawny little bundle I had put in the shed the night before, I found a fluffy ball of energy, dancing about, and squawking for more food. :)

My neighbour had told me a few days earlier that there were kestrels flying overhead, and we could only hope they were the parents of my little adopted buddy.

After another feed, we took him out to the barn in the farm, and sat patiently waiting for hours, hoping my feathered friend would be reunited with his mum and dad.

Time to Fly

After what seemed like forever and a million calls from his parents, my little bird took flight. It was one of the most beautiful sights I have ever seen, and I had tears streaming down my face.

As we sat and watched them soaring overhead, I was so proud of him, it must have taken a huge amount of courage to ask for help.

Now, several years later, I often think of him, wondering how he is doing, and how many chicks are flying around because of him. Chicks who might never have been born…

Never Give Up Hope

So, what I am saying is never give up hope. That little bird could have been run over and killed by me, eaten by the cat, starved, or died from the cold. 

But he survived … against all odds.

I am not saying we can always change life or death situations. The very nature of life is that we are born – and then we die.

But I am saying things are not always as bad as they seem, and keeping hope in your heart can sometimes bring about little miracles. :)

Join the Conversation:

Have you ever rescued an animal? How did you help them survive? What was the outcome?