It's about time I finished the story of the baby bird.
Rocky was in a little plastic bowl on our kitchen counter. We fed him throughout the evening. Eventually Jeremy needed to leavefor a meeting at church. As he drove up the church driveway, Jeremy's headlights shone on a bird's nest on the ground near the road. He picked up the nest and brought it home. We settled Rocky in the nest, where he seemed a little more comfortable, and put a heating pad over him.
Our neighbor never gave us the number for the vet who helps baby birds, so I started trying to find it online. I didn't find the number, but I learned it is illegal to keep wildlife in our state. I also found a few phone numbers for local wildlife rehabilitators, along with information on how to care for orphaned baby birds. What I read made me nervous, because we had already made a few mistakes.
Jeremy and I checked on Rocky throughout the night and called one of the rehabilitators first thing in the morning. The woman directed me to a vet clinic in the same town where Jeremy works. He took the bird to the clinic, and the women at the front desk were amazed the Rocky had survived so long alone. They never had one so young survive without one or more siblings to help it keep warm. The vet took one look at our little bird and immediately took him to a warmer. She said if he lived, he would go to a wildlife rehabilitator the next day.
He lived. The clinic put us in touch with the rehabilitator so we could check up on Rocky, who turned out to be a sparrow. He ate, grew, and one day, flew away.
And what did I learn from this little baby bird? I think it can all be summed up in the name of the tiny town where that rehabilitator lives and works ... Hope.