First sight - not looking at all well
Standing on the grass was a small waterbird with a brown cap, grey front and lovely mottled black-and-white barring on its back and sides. It had a short tail and a beak as long as its head. It was a Slaty-breasted Rail, a species that I had seen skulking around the back pond a few times. But this one was standing there with its head turned to rest on its back and paying no attention to me. I assumed it had collided with one of our windows. Stunned birds will often recover from such collisions after a rest so I left it and abandoned my plan of cutting the grass in that area.
A chance for a close look
Throughout the day I kept checking on it. It did move a little to find better shade but had gone barely two meters. Whenever I got close, it seemed to sense something and start walking around in circles like it was trying to move away but was incapable of taking a straight line. Around and around it walked in a tight circle with its neck bent backwards to the right. Its head could never quite point forwards. The collision injury seemed like it must be serious.
The Rail was still there the next morning. In late afternoon it was also unchanged, stuck in a state of restricted animation. Thinking that it must be getting dehydrated I dribbled some water onto its beak and it took in several mouthfuls but was unable to drink for itself. I decided that I did need to cut the grass so moved the bird to a new location without any struggle.
Looking slightly better after some water
There was no improvement or decline in the Rail the following day and I felt caught between two worlds. The British one I grew up in told me to end its suffering but the Thai Buddhist one in which I had spent the last twenty-five years told me not to take its life. I gave it more water, and also offered it some Soldier Fly larvae that I keep in a bucket to help me with composting. The bird showed no interest and kept standing on them as it went for a walk around itself.
The fact that it was still alive surprised me. It seemed both resilient and lucky. Unwelcome local cats often stalk the garden at night but even without them how could it have gone unnoticed by any of the resident Monitor Lizards?
Standing on my food offering
Next day it took some more water in the morning and again in the afternoon but still could not drink for itself. It was unable to see the bowl even when standing in it. It also still had no interest in the larvae. It did move a bit better but was still unable to bend its head fully forwards. Whenever it tried it would bend its neck most of the way only for its head to curl backwards to rest once more on its back. But it did manage to wander a bit further and the incessant circles it walked in were getting a bit wider. I used this very minor improvement to salve my guilt at being unable to decide what to do.
Getting a little more active
In the morning there was no sign of the Rail but it did re-appear in the afternoon. I took this as another sign of improvement. For the first time it was also able to take water from the bowl without me dribbling it onto its beak. Its behaviour was otherwise unchanged with walking in circles punctuated by long periods of immobility with its head bent to the right and tucked along its back. After dusk it was still walking in a circle as though tied to a stake on a very short lead.
Multiple exposure of the same bird walking around and around
It was at this point that I did some research and discovered Paramyxovirus. A disease that, amongst other things, makes birds walk in circles and gives them a crooked neck. Most of the information I found concerned the unnatural densities of pigeon lofts and chicken farms where mortality is high. Recovery for a wild bird seemed a possibility.
Although I hadn’t actually been touching the bird I also nervously read about the risks of human infection. Fortunately, it is only a real risk for people working close to infected flocks or researching the virus itself, and even then the symptoms are equivalent to a cold.
And that was the last day I ever saw the Rail.
...and around and around...
Having real life stories around me to follow is wonderful but no soap opera would treat me this way. I am left dangling, searching for any clue of what happened. I found nothing, no pile of feathers, no grinning cat. My gut feeling is that it ended badly. But perhaps the bird did recover enough to re-discover how to eat. Maybe one day I’ll see a Slaty-breasted Rail with a slight tendency to wander in circles, although I doubt it.
I tried to take a positive message from the disappointment of not knowing. Convincing myself that the wildlife around me is more intriguing for its mystery and it is better left that way. That is harder to believe when I have stepped beyond observer to become participant, even if in a small way as here. Being an active part of the tale allows emotions to creep in and with them they bring risk. I am not just interested, I actually care about what happens and yearn for what I would see as a good outcome.
My last view of the Rail
And there is the lesson. Emotional attachment to individuals is what we, as social mammals, are built for. And without the lows of disappointment when answers slip out of reach the highs of happy endings or discovery can never quite be as good. Both are needed and together bring balance. There are times when I do get to see the ending, and never knowing when that will happen adds an edge. And that edge is a more exciting place to wander. So bring it on, garden, bring it on.
The end.
