An Unexpected Guest

An Unexpected Guest

"What was that?" I asked myself. 

I was sitting in my bedroom, about to pick up a book, when I glanced at something flying above my head. "It must be a bird, or was it a bat?" I wondered. "I didn't get a good look."

Whatever it was, it was gone in a flash, but I ran to the living room where I saw a wren flying by a window. "Quick," I told myself, "put the dog in the crate, so he doesn't hurt the poor thing."

A moment later the dog was crated, and I was exclaiming, "There's a bird in the house!", as I chased him into the bathroom and closed the door. "He's trapped now," I thought. "He can't be too hard to catch." But I didn't even have a chance to try before Dad told me to leave the bird in the bathroom. The phone had rung for me, and Dad was departing for the dentist.

Thirty minutes later, I returned to the bathroom. While I cautiously opened the door, Dad explained to the dental staff that he couldn't brush his teeth because there was a wren in his bathroom. I’m sure they thought it was absurd.

Inside the bathroom, I used a butterfly net. Whoosh! A few times I came close to the wren with the net, but he always flew away. Besides, the net was on a five foot pole, which made it difficult to use.

"Alright,” I reasoned, “I'll catch him with my hands." But wild birds are not tame, and my hands only ever brushed the wren's feathers.
Of course, a bird in a bathroom is an unusual subject, so I laughed and began texting photos of the wren as he flew around the room. Mom was visiting my ninety-one year old grandma, so I video called to let them watch. Then I hung up and wondered what strategy I should attempt next.

Only now where was the bird? It took ten minutes before I found him perched on the shadowed piping behind the toilet. Again I reached out my hand to grab him. Again no success. He flew under the steamer, then to a shelf, then to the skylight, then to the showerhead, then to a hook on the door, then behind the shower curtain.
I looked in the garage. No, we didn't have a net on a shorter pole. Someone suggested I throw a sheet over the bird. That didn't work either.

By now, I'd spent an hour trying to catch the wren, and I was a feverish, sweaty mess. I retreated. My parents could help when they returned home.

I went to bed, but I couldn't stop thinking about the poor fellow, later named Silas by my sister-in-law. I didn't want him to go hungry, so I returned with a dish of birdseed. There I found a growing amount of poop on the floor and now on Mom's clothes. Oh, dear.
Finally, my parents came home. Into the bathroom they went and out went tripping-hazards and hiding places for the bird. At first, for a horrible moment, Mom thought the bird had died as there was insulation scattered across the floor that she mistook for feathers. Apparently, Silas had been trying to escape through the skylight. Dad cut the pole on the net to a shorter length, and together my parents got to work.

Again Silas hid behind the toilet. Again he flew around the room. But forty-five minutes later Silas landed on a hook on the door, and whoosh, over him went the net. Mom had caught the wren! Hooray!

Minutes later, Mom, Dad, and I opened the net outside, and Silas flew into the woods. Three-cheers for a prisoner set free!

Leave a comment