Our dog, Nelly, knew something was amiss in the cold ashes of the warm-morning stove in our breakfast room. She kept pawing and whining at the stove and brick hearth. Then we heard the chirping.
I opened the door of the stove this morning to find two bluebirds -- one dead and one very much alive. I removed the dead bird and carried it to the woods. I stroked the feathers to find they are very much a beige with with just the tips costuming the bird in blue. Its burial place was a nice pile of leaves. I see why John James Audubon shot and trapped the birds he painted (photo from a print we have). That's the only way you can really take a close look at one. Inquisitiveness has its price.
I gently corralled the live bird and took it to the front porch. As I went to put it down to see if it might survive, it took flight to the woods, apparently no worse for spending the night in the stove.
I thought the cap on our chimney was bird proof, but bluebirds have a way of sneaking into small spaces. Next time I'm on the roof I'll check it.
One bluebird gone, but one survived. Small blessings.
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