Is there a duck doctor in the house?

This Northern pintail has a damaged wing. Walking, he drags it on the ground; I didn't see him fly, which may be problematic. Swimming, he's ok.

The wing drags a bit in the water, but he steers fine.

He's fortunate to be at the Centennial Beach duck pond; there is plenty of cover in the reeds, food on the ground and in the water, and good company. Even females and nesting sites. What more could a duck want? (A duck doctor, maybe?)

We've been busy all week with various things, doings good and good-but-no-fun and one no-good-very-sad day, but we did manage the beach today, and the sun broke through the fog a few minutes after we'd ventured out into the grey mist. So kind of it! And we made some exciting finds, too!

Tomorrow's another of those days. This one promises to be a treat, but I may be too exhausted to blog when I get home. See you Monday, at least, then I'll start playing catch-up.

A bird in the hand ...

... would be better off in the bush.

I was sitting here at my desk, thinking about the Circus of the Spineless (of which I'll remind you again later*), when a sparrow hermit thrush flew full-tilt, head-on into my window, and fell unconscious on the cement.

I dashed out to rescue him; he was lying on his side, not moving, but when I picked him up, he was still breathing. His eyes were closed, his beak open. I brought him inside to the warmth, and wrapped him in the first thing that came to hand, paper towels.

He moved slightly, and I peeked. His head was bent back, towards the right side, but the right eye was open. When I put him down, he struggled to stand upright, but kept his head twisted. He didn't seem to notice me, a few inches away.

A soundless distress call

In case of accident ... well, for humans, they say to guard against shock; keep them warm. So I got a big plastic bowl and made a nest out of a towel in it, then gently put the thrush inside and covered him up. And sat there with him on my lap while I played a few rounds of Solitaire. Something mindless, to keep me from disturbing him from sheer impatience.

After about ten minutes, I put a hand on the top of the towel. Immediately, the thrush started to thrash about and call frantically, so I took the bowl to the open door, and lifted the corner of the towel. He jumped out and stood, teetering on the sill.

The left eye is still closed, the beak open, but he's silent again. 

Five more minutes, and he opened the other eye, hopped to the ground, then flew a few feet to a clump of potted plants ...

Feathery bird on rusty bird.

... where he sat. He watched me, but didn't mind me moving about, taking photos. After a while, worried about him getting cold, I touched his back, and he roused himself and flew into the shrubbery. 15 minutes later, he was gone. Good! I hope he got over the headache soon and completely.

Still on the rusty bird, against a flower pot patterned by snails eating algae.

Every now and then one of the chickadees brushes my window; not too hard, and they recover almost instantly. This is the first bird that has really knocked himself out for several years. I wish there were none. But how do you keep them from doing this? I've tried a few suggestions, like painting lines on the window, screening (They bump the screen and the glass, too, just not as hard.), or cross-hatching the danger zones with sticky tape. Nothing really works.

Any ideas? What do you do?

*About  Circus of the Spineless: tonight, midnight, Pacific Coast time, is the deadline for submissions to the October edition. You may e-mail your invertebrate posts to me, wanderinweeta AT gmail DOT com, or send me the link on Twitter @wanderinweeta.