Instead of the usual wood or metal horizontal or vertical rails that are usually on the outside edge of decks to keep us safe, the upstairs decks at our house have glass. For humans and cats, this is wonderful. It keeps us in, while allowing us to look out.

This is not such a nice feature if you happen to be a bird.

Once or twice a year we have a bird fly headon into that glass, and knock itself silly. This happened again on Saturday. A bird hit the glass so hard that Dave, sitting at the kitchen table, felt the echo of the impact through his feet. The bird simply laid there for quite a while. Dave was worried about him, so went outside to check. Laying still, in an awkward position, but still breathing. Dave closed the cat door so we wouldn’t have to worry about Ricki thinking the bird was a kitty treat. I ran and got my camera. By the time I got back, he’d moved a bit. You can see him there under the strawberry pot, behind the grill, he’s the dark gray bit.

I left him alone for a while, then went to check on him. I couldn’t see him from inside the house, so I went out on the deck. There he was, laying on his back, feet up in the air. He was still breathing, though, and looking around a bit. He’s sure a pretty little thing with a dark check with light dots all over it. I wonder what kind of bird he is. I went back in, knitted.

I came back to check on him again some while later. I couldn’t see him from inside the house, so I went back out onto the deck. I tiptoed around, peeked behind the big pot he’d been hiding behind before. Not there, nor behind the strawberry pot. I moved to look behind the pots on the other side of the deck, and about jumped out of my skin. I found him. He started flapping about… he was inside an empty pot! Fluttered out, banged against the glass some more, I backed hastily away. Be careful! Don’t hurt yourself further! At one point I thought for sure he’d broken a wing. (Sorry about these fuzzy photos—I was taking them from behind a screen.)

He made it out into the sunshine. He lay there panting from his exertions. The poor little thing. I backed slowly away from the window I was standing behind, and turned to go into the next room. When I had my back toward him, he managed to get himself up on a lounge chair. He saw me come around the corner, panicked again, and flew off… over the rail this time—instead of into the glass—and down into the yard. I hope he managed to land in a tree, to keep away from predators until he could fly better. He certainly wasn’t doing well yet.