|
|
Dalton
Roberts |
|
|
|
You can get so close to an animal that it becomes a part of you. It takes on some of your traits and you take on some of its. That’s the way it has been with Long John Cardinal. One morning in 1983 I saw this male cardinal trying to hang onto a feeder but constantly falling off. I got my binoculars and saw he had lost a leg. The stump looked real pink, indicating he had lost it recently. Since he couldn’t hang onto my feeders, I laid a line of sunflower seeds atop a fence on my patio and he hunkered down and ate them. Morning and night, I would put his seeds atop that fence. When I had to go out of town, my wonderful next-door neighbor, policewoman Janet Crumley, would feed him. Cardinals may be the most skittish of all birds but Long John got so tame he would come in as I was putting out his seeds. I would talk to him and he would chirp to me in soft tones. Knowing that cardinals only live 8 years I often said to him, “If you die, don’t go off in the woods and make me worry about what happened to you. Die right here on my patio and I will give you a decent burial.” Seventeen years ago today, I went out one rainy morning and he was dead at the bottom of that fence. I buried him under the pine tree where he sat every morning waiting for me to lay out his seeds. I don’t mind telling you I cried. For five years he had been my daily companion. I had seen him raise many broods and feed them right there on my patio. It definitely increased my belief in cross-species communication when he died right where I asked him to die. If you’ve ever had a pet that became a constant companion for many years you will not have any difficulty accepting my belief that we can actually communicate with other species. Long John imparted some of his very being to me. The day he died, I wrote in my journal, “Long John was drawn to me by more than his need for food. He wanted someone who could see through his one-leggedness to his spirit.” That spirit became a part of my spirit. Often when I felt a lack of courage to deal with something, I would think of him and be energized. His courage became my courage. He wasn’t my only experience in cross-species communication. One morning my wife brought me some ice water and apple cider while I was working in the garden. She said, “There’s a beautiful butterfly on your sun hat.” I told her that butterfly had been right with me all morning. It would get still and when I started telling it how beautiful it was it would turn around like a beauty queen as I talked and praised it. Later in the day I asked, “Do you want some cider?” and poured a few drops on my arm. It came and drank the cider. When I backed down the long driveway at the end of the day, it flew in place right in front of my windshield until I reached the road. I am telling you, I have always had this thing with butterflies. Long John still costs me a lot of money. I have bird feeders designed to keep starlings out. One day I realized cardinals couldn’t access a single feeder. So I bought a big one just for cardinals. I got to thinking that I might be depriving one of Long John’s children or grandchildren with my feeding program. The blackbirds get most of the seed I put in that big feeder but Long John’s kids get some, too. Isn’t it beautiful for God to use a little crippled cardinal to civilize and humanize an old hairy-legged guitar picker from downtown Watering Trough?
|
