A small domestic drama

The Wise Woman screamed. I came running. A fledgling mockingbird was cowering at the front door.

The Wise Woman was afraid to shut the door, afraid the tiny bird's foot would be crushed. I moved the fledgling gently with a broom. It cowered in a corner of the porch. The Wise Woman put down food and water.

The next day, I noticed it flitting — skittering along the ground, legs and wings pumping. I suspected its mother was feeding him.

By Day 2, he had moved to the bush near the driveway. That's where he was on Day 3 when the big dog and I, on our way for a walk, startled him. 

The fledgling left the bush and flew across the street. The flight of perhaps 40 yards was wobbly, but still flight. The little bird barely has tail feathers. It must be hard going without a rudder.