You can guess this is going to be about a small bird. But the kind of bird might be a surprise. House sparrows, or English sparrows, are often seen as a pest bird, much like starlings. Both species were brought over from England to provide a reminder of home to some transplanted English folks. It took several tries for the starlings to be successful, but I think I recall reading that the English sparrows took to us right away. They are everywhere, they are aggressive, they are survivors.
This story is about one tiny, newly-hatched sparrow and the human that adopted him. I hesitate to use the word 'adopted' as it was a very egalitarian relationship.
This sparrow appeared in the flowerbed of a house in southeast Portland, looking like a little pink scrotum or words to that effect. And that's how newly hatched birds look- not very appealing, except to the parent bird, I hope. This one had fallen from a nest very high in a tree where it was impossible to replace him. The man who lived in the house was early middle-age and knew absolutely nothing about birds. Nor did he care, really. He was an electronics technician, not working in the natural sciences. But he just couldn't leave this tiny, struggling bit of life to its probable grisly fate in his yard.
What follows is the story of a deep and loving (yes - read the book) relationship between bird and man. There is humor, jealousy, sadness and wonder written in the pages. "B", as he named the sparrow, had daily rites and routines, and woe be to the human if anything were to interfere, as Chris, the human, was very much a part of the activities. Chris was devoted to this opinionated and passionate bit of life, and B was devoted to him. He waited anxiously for Chris's return from work every evening, whence B would land on Chris's shoulder, inch up toward his neck, and snuggle there most contentedly. Some would call this imprinting, when newly-hatched birds identify the first individual with a pulse as 'mother' and follow them faithfully. But this relationship deepened as B matured into a full grown sparrow.
He liked to play, stealing bookmarks and hiding objects, then watching with excitement as Chris tried to find them. He had his own room: no cage for this little guy. 'War bird' was the first game of the day, which involved much furious flying in a very specific manner, interacting with Chris, ending with B triumphant on Chris's fingers, panting and bowing. Wow. A sparrow.
Life was divided for Chris into "before B" and "after B". Reading about his death was hard. Living it for Chris and his partner Rebecca, was infinitely harder. After many happy years, B developed an overwhelming infection from who knows what, and died quite quickly. By this time, he had inspired them to obtain more birds: more sparrows and some finches. They were hooked. But there was no replacement for B. Their sorrow was deep.
But look what that little bird did. Chris wrote a book, The Providence of a Sparrow, which was the Literary Arts winner at the Oregon Book Awards in 2002. Through that book, B has touched so many lives. And how very deeply he touched Chris. There is a photo at the opening of the book which shows Chris (who looks a bit like Gregory Peck) cuddling B to his cheek. Chris's eyes are closed and B sits deeply and happily in the palm of his hand. Pure, pure love.
So the next time you see a family of sparrows, or even just one, think of B and the gift that this seemingly anonymous little creature gave.
Not a whit, we defy augury; there's a special
providence in the fall of a sparrow.
--William Shakespeare, Hamlet
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