Pepe

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One week ago today, I was at the Grinch’s place to take care of the geese and clean out the stable. While I was mucking out, I suddenly heard a desperate rustling. I paused, looked around, and tried to locate the sound.

On a small rise stood an old paint bucket. Inside, the Grinch had thrown away one of those disgusting fly traps – full of dead flies, sticky and revolting. And right there, caught in that trap, was a small swallow.

She was struggling desperately, fighting with all her strength to free herself from the sticky hair-like glue of the trap. It must have been her first attempt at flying – and it had gone terribly wrong.

Despite my disgust at the dead flies, I bravely reached in. Carefully, bit by bit, I freed the little swallow from the life-threatening trap – as gently as possible, as firmly as necessary.

Since I had no idea how to care for an injured swallow, I went over to my favorite neighbor. Together, we spent an entire hour gently washing the little one – with pure soap, patiently and tenderly.

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Once the little swallow was finally clean, I got a cardboard box and started researching what a young swallow actually eats. I already knew a little: if you find a weakened fledgling and have nothing else on hand, you can start by feeding it tiny balls of scrambled egg.

But that was only a temporary solution. Since Pepe – that’s what my husband had named him – was still a fledgling, he needed to be fed hourly. And let’s be honest: most people don’t just have mealworms or flies in the fridge.

So first, I made him comfortable: a hot water bottle in the box, soft and warm. But I knew he urgently needed protein. I thought of my horses – after all, there are always flies on the manure pile. So I made a fly trap – not one of those deadly glue traps, of course, but one made from a plastic bottle. I cut off the neck, inserted it upside down, poured sugar water inside, and set it out on the manure heap.

And what can I say? As if the little beasts knew: not a single fly in sight. Not even around the horses.

So Plan B was needed. After a bit of research, I found out that the nearby hardware store had fishing supplies – and with that, live bait. So off I went and came back with a tub of mealworms.

But I quickly read that the heads of the worms are indigestible for swallows. Which meant: heads off. A nightmare for me – I’m very squeamish and honestly thought I might throw up. Luckily, my husband and my neighbor took over that task.

From then on, Pepe got his portion every hour: a tiny worm, gently placed in his beak. I kept him warm, set an alarm at night, and made sure he got everything he needed.

And Pepe thanked me for it: he grew more and more attached to me. He sat on my shoulder, watched me work, and called for me when he was hungry.

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With each passing day, our bond grew. Day by day, he got stronger, even though he still couldn’t fly. We really liked each other – yes, we became friends.

After a week full of feeding, cuddling, and caring, he was healthy enough that he should really be among his own kind. The day of separation came. I took him to a zoo that has a large aviary and a sanctuary for birds. That’s where he was supposed to learn to fly and, come autumn, migrate to Africa with the others. I drove for an hour and a half with him, always thinking: Soon you’ll be with your buddies. Everything will be okay there. And maybe next year, you’ll come back and say hello.

But even as I arrived, I had a strange feeling. They wanted me to leave Pepe in his box at the reception – until a zookeeper would have time for him an hour later. That was out of the question for me. I insisted he be cared for immediately. Eventually, I found the zookeeper and was able to say a loving goodbye to Pepe. Still, the uneasy feeling remained.

The next day, after a sleepless night, I called the zoo to ask about my little patient. The vet told me Pepe probably wouldn’t be able to fly for a whole year – only after his first molt, when he would get a full set of feathers. But the keepers didn’t have the time to feed and care for him that long.

So we agreed that I would come pick him up the next morning. In my mind, I had already started planning a large aviary, ordering food, and preparing myself to take care of him for much longer.

But it never came to that. Halfway there, I got the call: Pepe had died that morning in his cage.

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Since then, I’ve been sitting here, writing, crying endlessly, and blaming myself over and over. If only I had kept him with me.

Rest in peace, my little friend. 🖤
Maybe now the wind carries you – to the place your wings always longed to reach.