I Tried to Save Some Birds This Past Weekend

Here was the last survivor. He died on July 10, 2011 A.D. after having lived for probably about 36 hours or so. He was a fighter.

Birds die a lot. Sadly, I'm not even talking about the really good-tasting ones. The ones that kind of make everything nicer outside... over 70% of those don't even make it to adulthood. Yet still, they manage to thrive and establish equilibrium with their environment.
So it is that in just about every childhood comes the opportunity try and rescue some of these little guys when the odds are stacked so heavily against them. My opportunity came a bit later in life as I was taking my laundry back in my apartment complex. I nearly stepped on two of the little guys. There they were, chirping loudly and asking me for a meal--at least, I'm pretty sure that's what they're doing when they look straight up with their disproportionate beaks being stretched open as wide as they can go. I hadn't the faintest clue of how to take care of birdlings... but I couldn't just leave them there! I saw the nest, but it was well out of reach (not in a tree, which I could climb, but up in an alcove of a building), so I got a shoebox out of my trunk knowing full well that as soon as I put them in their odds of survival would simply plummet.

I used tissue paper to move them. They looked extremely fragile and I didn't want avian flu, so I avoided contact more out of fear for my own health than theirs. Having no idea how to take care of them, I researched it online, and the results were never hopeful.

So here are some things to know about caring for baby birds.
#1. Don't! If you don't have to, don't try. 90-95% die when humans intervene. If you have to though, like in my case, here's your best choices:
#2. Put them back in their nest! It's a myth that the parents will abandon its young once a human has touched them. Birds can't smell! Some of them eat skunks, for heaven sakes!
#3. In case if the parent is roadkill somewhere (or you simply can't reach the nest and don't want to leave the critters out to the mercy of the elements especially with a few forecasted thunderstorms coming up, which was my case) and the nest option is, in fact, NOT an option, then the next best course of action involves professional wildlife rehab centers. Since the one in Riverton only takes "raptors" (no, not the dinosaurs... owls, falcons, and the like-birds of prey), let's move on to option 4 where we begin to make them pets.
#4. Holding wildlife without a proper license is against federal law. Note: I am not holding the birds anymore, and I only did, technically, for several hours when I brought them in at night. If any federal wildlife agents are reading this blog, please don't arrest me!
#5. Now that you have your license, in theory, line the shoe box (because obviously there's a shoe box involved) with paper towel, insert a shallow dish of water, and feed the birds with soggy bread crums every 14 to 20 minutes. Feeding can be difficult since you have to directly touch the bird and hold its head facing up as they don't always cooperate themselves. Be careful, because an ounce of too much pressure could be fatal! The feeding process takes an average of 14-20 minutes, so as soon as you're done, repeat the process until your birds are sufficiently grown to hunt on their own, which they won't learn to do without their avian parents, so...
#6. Since #5 is pretty much humanly impossible, watch as your birds begin to convulse and slowly die... it's sad, but I guess that's nature. One misstep from the poor helpless thing and they tumble out of their nest onto the sidewalk about 15 feet below, and now they're screwed for their very short lives.

I don't mean to make this whole business of caring for creatures in need a mockery or any sort of pessimistic rant. Just understand that this understanding is the reason why I'm not incredibly heartbroken right now, four days postmortem of the last little struggler. There were three total that I found on the sidewalk Saturday evening, and by Sunday morning there was only one left. I fed them a lot, but I had an activity to go to and then I had to sleep and then I had to go to church... so when the last one gave out just before ward prayer, I was only a little devastated. Now they're buried right outside my apartment, and I am left to wonder, "What could I have done more for my vineyard?"
With all this tugging on your heartstrings, let me assure that if I should ever come across a few birdies in need again, after this experience... I already have a shoebox ready.