Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
picked themselves up, shook themselves off and tottered away like a happy drunk at the end
of the evening, but some needed extra help.
I was sitting with my back to the barn doors reading when a thud hit the window so hard I
almost felt it. I immediately hit the ground, for some reason thinking we were under attack,
and it took a few moments for me to realise what had happened. An adult kingfisher had hit
the window with such force that it had knocked itself out, but as it lay there, its beautiful
blue-orangey coat shimmering, I could see that its tiny chest was still moving. I don't know
what I thought I could do, but I certainly couldn't leave it where it was so I went outside and
picked the poor thing up.
It was definitely still breathing, and quickly too which I considered, based on no kingfisher-
related medical knowledge whatsoever, to be a good sign. I decided to take it down to the
pond and just sat there with it in my hand for a while. I didn't like the angle its neck was at,
it looked like it may be broken, and I knew sooner or later I would have to make a decision:
leave it to itself, put it out of its misery or, at the risk of being laughed at in a harsh coun-
tryside community, take it to the vet.
Then, slowly, it opened its eyes. For another five minutes it just lay there like it was coming
out of a coma and didn't want to rush things, its breathing became less hurried which I now
decided was better than the other way around and then very slowly, very gingerly it began to
move its head as though testing each part of its battered body. It seemed to be flexing its little
feet too. It obviously felt safe with me - it didn't panic or try and rush its recovery, it was like
you or me waking up with a biting hangover, every movement was done slowly, methodically
and then repeated to make sure its senses weren't playing tricks on it.
After a further ten minutes it stood up on my, by now, completely frozen hand, but still it
didn't fly away. It was one of the most privileged moments of my life; this small, beautiful
creature trusted me so much that it just sat there with me, on me even, while it got its breath
back. And then it turned to look at me, chirruped a little bit and flew away, doing a few circles
of the pond, flying quite close to me on each circuit and then went, gliding away into the
darkening afternoon sky.
I stayed at the edge of the pond for a while longer, taking in what had just happened. The
serenity of the moment was breathtaking, the silence of the frozen countryside adding an eer-
ie atmosphere to the scene. It was taking me a long time to get used to country living - I am
a city boy and was still happily surrounded by concrete and carbon monoxide every week-
end at work - but this one moment was so affecting, so out of keeping with my work-life,
my image and my usually frenetic sense of order and angst, that it felt like a turning point. I
was rescuing our injured feathered friends and harnessing the wild instincts of weasels; I was
turning into (a betterdressed) Grizzly Adams or Dr Doolittle.
