Bird legs
As if I don’t have enough responsibilities already, I am now mama to five baby guineas. They hatched in an incubator, so for better or worse, I’m the only mama they have. At this stage, they’re not much different from baby chicks or ducks. Feed them. Water them. They’re good.
Except one of them wasn’t good. One of them couldn’t stand up; instead, he scooted himself to his food and water with his legs splayed east and west. They call it splay leg. Other than the scooting thing, he seemed pretty healthy, but I knew if he grew up like that, he’d be easy prey for the coons and hawks.
I went to the expert for advice: Google search engine. It said to treat splay leg, I needed to secure the two legs together with bandages, to encourage them to grow and develop correctly. It also said to massage the muscles and work the legs in the right directions. I didn’t have the right kind of bandage, but I had scotch tape! So I held the little guy in my hands and gave his legs a quick physical therapy workout, bending them at the joints and massaging them at the hip. Then I taped the legs together and separated him from the other birds, so they wouldn’t trample him.
Day One: He lies on his side, legs taped, chirping as loud as he can and, I’m sure, calling me all sorts of bad things in birdy language. In the evening I untape him for some PT. No visible progress.
Day Two: He’s on his side some more. I untape him again, work his legs back and forth, and plunge his beak into some water, then some food. He fights me. I figure feisty’s a good sign. Still, I question if I’m doing it right.
Day Three: More taping. More PT. Every time I approach his box, he glares at me. I wonder if I’m wasting my time. I’m pretty sure I heard him call me Voldemort.
Day Four: His legs are straight, but not bending at the knee or ankle. I stretch those joints while he yells obscenities at me.
Day Five: He’s standing on his knees. More PT. More fowl words.
Day Six: He’s walking! I put him in the box with the other birds. He’s a little slower than the other guys, but he’s holding his own.
Day Seven: I have no idea which guinea is which. They’re all looking at me, calling me names I’m not allowed to write here, so I know they’ve been talking.
They’re two weeks old now, and starting to get feathers. I’ve done all I can do, and prepared them to the best of my ability for adulthood. Soon, they’ll graduate to the great outdoors, and it will be up to them to survive. I hope they thrive.
The whole experience has been like a condensed version of parenting my own two human offspring. I’ve loved them, and they’ve fought me. I’ve tried to train their spirits in the right direction, and they’ve questioned my motives. I’m pretty sure they’ve called me a few names-that-cannot-be-mentioned, under their breath. At times, I’ve wondered if I was doing it right.
But one has already flown the coop, and she’s thriving! The other is strong and independent and . . . well, he still forgets to turn in his homework about half the time, but we’re working on that. They both have jobs, and their employers seem to like them. They have friends. They show kindness and compassion. And amazingly, they both seem to like their mom.
The guinea’s legs didn’t get better overnight; it took a full week. My children didn’t become responsible, productive young adults overnight; it took many years. Anything worth doing takes time and persistence and gritty stick-to-it-iveness. (Trust me. It’s a word.) And as hard as it is, when life seems to fight against us and people question our motives and call us all sorts of names, it’s worth it to keep going. To keep doing what we know is right. To keep following the Expert’s advice. In the end, it will pay off.
“Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up,” Galatians 6:9.