Lost Babies

Last night was one night I felt a bit like my mother. It was also the night that a different mother lost four babies.

She was a Killdeer. I had accidentally seen her and her partner mating in late April. And two days later, I noticed her first two eggs, not 12 inches from where the birds mated. The eggs look exactly like the rocks around them. That was the only reason I felt they had a chance of survival in this cat and other predator-infested neighborhood. I told Wendy how sure I was that her cat, Bony, would get the babies. She assured me that these two birds have been incubating and hatching their eggs in her yard for about five years, and Bony hasn't gotten them yet.

I watched her as she patiently sat on those eggs, eventually all four of them, day after day. And all night. She would hop off and scuttle away if anyone got too near. One day, I noticed she wasn't on her nest, so I thought it would be my perfect chance to get some of the weeds that have been getting out of hand other there. I crept in--about seven feet from the eggs--and I began to hear her squeak at me. A mother to mother call, whether she knew it or not, saying, "Hey. Hey HEY." I stopped. I took another step. I was really so close to the weeds. I just wanted to grab them and go. Higher pitched this time. "HEY. um, HEY HEY!" Then I heard another bird behind me. I looked over by the apple tree and saw Daddy, faking his broken wing--flapping and puffing and squeaking "kikareekikareekikareekikaree HEY HEY." And the Mama warned, still higher, "HEY."

Those weeds I just wanted to grab real quick--still there. I stepped away, and Bony, who had been shadowing me in hopes of more rubbing against my leg, followed.

Since then, I've been a bit protective of my yard birds. They can take care of themselves (you should have seen how Mama held her own against a stupid squirrel), but still, I wanted to keep Bony and other neighborhood cats away. I don't think Bony realized the eggs were there. But she did sometimes lazily sprawl a bit too close, forcing a desperate Mama to leave her eggs to get cold.

Then last night, I heard her. She was upset. This was around 10:30, I think. I went out, called to Bony and shooed her into the backyard. Still the mother called, "Hey? Hey? HEY. Hey?" I grabbed the flashlight. There she was, scooting a few steps closer to her nest with each call. I watched her, as I had many times, until she fluffed herself down over her eggs again. All was well.

Until I woke to her calls. It was 3:39am. Something was wrong. She was frantic. I kept thinking she would calm back down. I would fall back asleep. I rolled over with a huff of frustration at being awake to these annoying bird noises. Jeremy said, "we can close the windows." But I said, "She'll still be out there making noise. Something is going on. Something's wrong."

I got up and put on my slippers. I got the flashlight and crept out. It crossed my mind that this was a crazy and strange thing to do, that I should be frightened of going outside in the middle of the night in nothing but my nightgown, but I had to check on my killdeer. This time it wasn't Bony bothering her. I could see the cat coming toward me from across the yard by the horses. I couldn't see what was upsetting the Mama. I found her with the flashlight. She had calmed a bit, but was over in the driveway, not near her nest. I watched her. She called now and then and soon walked slowly down the drive, out toward the road. I didn't see if she went back to her nest because I turned off the flashlight and went back inside.

I remembered her while I was eating breakfast this morning. I finished, put food out for the cat, and went out to look at her. I figured I would see her black-ringed head poking up above the rocks as I have every day of May so far. But she was not there. I got closer and saw that the nest was empty.

Her eggs were gone. No shell shards. Nothing at all but the indentation that made me sure I was looking in the right spot. Something took those eggs away--probably one of our cat, fox, or raccoon neighbors.

My little mid-night adventure made me think of my mother, who has been known to do strange things in the wee hours. But mostly today, I will think about another mother. Sure, it is nature's way. My husband said, "that's why most birds build their nests up high." But I think about the hours and days she has spent warming those eggs, her next generation. She's been there all month, calmly watching me weeding or going in and out with my kids, patiently doing her work while I did mine. And now it's all gone. I can't help but think it is a sad thing.