The little bird sat in a limp huddle in the roadway, too dazed to resist as my daughter picked him up gently. She turned to me with beseeching eyes.

We had just parked my pickup and were walking along the road to the livestock barn. My children were entered in the FFA pig show that day. It would be starting in a few minutes. I really didn’t want to miss any part of the show, but I couldn’t turn down the opportunity to help this little fellow.

It was an Eastern Bluebird, and a very pretty one to look at. There was no evidence of blood or injury as I looked him over. As a matter of fact, he appeared to be the picture of health, except he was not responding to us in any way. It reminded me of the old saying, “The light’s on, but nobody’s home.”

“It probably got bumped by a car or flew into a window,” I told my daughter. “I can’t really see anything wrong with it. Maybe we should just give it a chance to rest. If he’s not better after the show, we’ll see what your Dad wants to do with it.”

We retraced our steps back to the pickup, the only safe place I could think of to confine the bluebird. I found one the children’s school backpacks and emptied the books from it. I propped it up against the seat and set the small bird down inside where it was cozy and dark. The best thing for it, I told myself, was peace and quiet, and as little handling as possible.

As we once again made our way to the barn, skies began to darken quickly. Thunder rumbled near by. Will Rogers was correct in his summary of Oklahoma weather. If you don’t like it, just wait a few minutes and it will change.

The rain began to pour just a few minutes after seating ourselves near the show arena. I watched from my dry perch on the bleachers. Such a strong thunderstorm would have washed that little bluebird right off the roadway. Soon the ditches and low spots were filled with water, and still the rain came down in torrents. Our little friend was safe and dry for the moment.

The rain storm began to lessen, and I soon became interested in watching the children and pigs inside the ring. Ribbons were being passed out to the first winners when I was tapped on the shoulder by an earnest little boy sent to give me a message.

“Hey, lady! Is that your pickup out there, ’cause there’s a bird inside trying to get out!”

My daughter and I hustled out of the barn, splashing through puddles as we ran to our parking place. There we were met by a very indignant fluff of blue feathers sitting on my dashboard.

We opened the pickup doors but weren’t able to shoo the little guy out. He kept flying from the front window to the back, squawking outrage at his predicament. He certainly wasn’t the picture of happiness.

I was able to scoop the bluebird up, and crawled backward out of the vehicle. Then I lifted him up and opened my hands. With just a moment’s hesitation, the bird fluttered out quickly. In a flash of brilliant blue, he disappeared into the nearby trees.

Driving home that afternoon, I noticed a small feather on the seat beside me. It was the bluest of blue.

That night, I tucked the little feather away in a book for safekeeping. I keep it as a reminder that even when a situation look doubtful, there’s always hope.

Our little friend taught me that, once in a while, even a bluebird can have a bad day.

by Pamela Jenkins ramblinrabbit@juno.com