The Hummingbird Test

A few months ago, we adopted a young street dog, a mixed-breed of unknown origin, a mutt that here in Belize is called a “potlicka.” She was under a year old with a sleek reddish coat, white sox on her feet, a white tip on her tail, and desperately in need of good nutrition. She needed a name that would fit with the rest of our pack so we called her “Foxxi.” Gradually, our mini-doxies, Kitti and Bunni, accepted Foxxi as their new “sister” and she learned to trust us, even though she was at times mischievous and full of puppy antics. But she was also smart,  quickly settling into our routine, and responding well to her basic obedience training.

However, I knew something was not quite right this morning when I spied Foxxi slinking around the north side of our wrap around deck. Glancing at the house sideways, she quickly slipped past the multiple glass doors that frame our octagon-shaped rental house. Her head was lowered and her back hunched down. It was obvious to me, after working with dogs most of my adult life, that she was up to no good. It appeared she had something hidden in her jowls that she knew she shouldn’t. Of course, I sprinted outside to investigate immediately.

Sensing me directly behind her, Foxxi stopped and lowered her snout to the floor. There, ever so gently, she deposited her prize on the deck boards. Fearful of a possible reprimand, she backed away a few steps.

With golden-tipped wings on a tiny green body, the hummingbird lay perfectly still. Its wet feathers glittered in the sunlight. Covered in bubbly, still-warm saliva and barely breathing, the tiny creature remained on her back where she had been deposited. Her beautiful, miniature body was just big enough to keep her from falling through the small space between the weathered boards.

Though her body did not move, her jet black eyes quickly found mine. Our connection was intense, electric, and immediate. I felt my heart constrict as her obvious terror pierced my normally emotionless heart. Her silent but desperate wish for survival shot straight through to the deepest chambers of my soul. She was helpless, paralyzed by shock and fear, and facing certain annihilation, yet still pleading for her life with her inky black eyes. Not a sound was made, yet I had never felt anything so strongly. I knew I had to try to help her even though the chance of success was slim.

I worried that even a single, spoken word could send my tiny friend fluttering into a panic, which would result in swift and certain death in the jaws of Foxxi, who remained watching intently from a few feet away. Communicating only with my eyes, my mind, and my heart, I silently instructed my feathered friend that she must remain perfectly still for me to be able to help her.

Turning my attention to Foxxi, I prayed that the hand signals we had been practicing would be cemented in her brain. Giving a twist of my curled first for the command to sit, two fingers swiped downwards for a command to lie down, and a palm towards her face for the stay, Foxxi obediently complied from several yards away. Giving the stay signal once more, as firmly and confidently as I could, I calmly stepped away and hoped that Foxxi would remain in the down-stay we had practiced for months and rewarded with pieces of cheese and peanut butter treats.

Only a few feet away and just inside the door, I was able to grab a wash rag, which I quickly returned with and used to gently dislodge my new friend from between the boards. Foxxi remained watching, hoping with every bit of her quivering body to be released from her stay. My new friend’s soulful eyes remained fixed on mine, trusting me as I cradled her on the wash rag in the palm of my hand.  Giving one last, silent but forceful hand signal for Foxxi to remain in her stay, I rushed downstairs with the hummingbird.

Placing the makeshift hospital bed on a lounge chair cushion, I was amazed to find she appeared unbroken and unharmed in any way. Her gaze never left mine as she allowed me to gently dry the slimy wetness of her wings and back. Within what seemed like hours but was certainly not, she gradually began to relax and breathe normally. I was thankful I had also grabbed the camera, and took a few quick pictures. Within a few minutes, she rolled from her back to a sitting position, and then she stood, walked a few inches on her wobbly little legs, and flexed her wings a bit. Another minute later and she fluttered onto the arm of the chair where she rested for a bit.

After a few more moments of regaining her composure, it was obvious she was anxious to return to her natural habitat.  At long last, she spread her wings wide and looked back at me for what I knew was one last time. As I returned her soulful stare, I strongly felt the words I could not hear, and her final communication to me. “I am a symbol of Belize. As you have saved me from certain death, I shall do the same for you. Belize will harm you no more.” And then she took flight.

A single, solitary tear ran down my cheek. I had been given a test. And I had passed.

When I returned upstairs a few minutes later, Foxxi was waiting, still in her down-stay in the exact same spot I left her.  She had passed the most important test I had given her as well. We celebrated with pieces of cheese and homemade peanut butter treats.

I am very proud of both of us.