There’s always that one person, isn’t there? The one that stops to move an earthworm from the pavement. The one whose dog isn’t picture perfect, and has breath that could strip paint at ten paces. The one who goes to the shop for dog food and returns with two fancy rats, returned to the shop for being ‘a bit bitey’ (just me?).
I long ago accepted and embraced the fact that I am, in fact, that person.
I’ve fostered a parrot with an ASBO, taken in a tortoise found loitering roadside and I’ve successfully rehabilitated a seagull with a broken wing – of course his name was Steven.
And I’ve long loved corvids.
Norse myths and witchy tales aside, they’re incredible creatures and their intelligence is fascinating. Similar in many ways to parrots, but without the ‘look at me, I’m a beautiful, needy dilettante’ attitude. They belong, of course, in the wild, flying free: I would never even hope to have one as a pet. How could you? They’re iconic wild birds, and should always be afforded the respect to remain so.
Enter Lazlo
Beware ex-husbands bearing gifts.
Mine turned up last weekend with a tiny baby crow, found on the ground at a local Dorset campsite, and watched for several hours by a lovely couple from Belgium. His sibling didn’t make it, and at dusk the couple carefully scooped him up and took him to the campsite bar, where the ex-husband said ‘I know someone who might help…’.
My teenager and I are mid binge-watch of What We Do In The Shadows, so the small bird was duly named Lazlo and installed in a spare budgie cage. Naturally, I crocheted him a little nest, and the feeding schedule commenced.
Lazlo proved to be an engaging little chap. Not afraid to shout for his supper and not averse to a cuddle. I sought advice from wild bird rescues (overrun with fledglings this time of year) and the consensus was that I’d hand rear him with a view to a gradual garden release once he was fully grown and much stronger.
I was preparing his breakfast when he lurched out of his little nest towards the kitchen sink. To hand was a fetching Portmeirion flowerpot and I plopped him into it to prevent any free-diving into the washing up. He looked so ludicrous I took a short video – which I then stuck on TikTok under the username @shoutylazlo. The video (above)howed him with his little velvet head stuck out of the pot, looking exceptionally grumpy, and emitting a loud RAAAWK when the promised breakfast took too long to materialise.
I have not TikTokked before. I use other social media for work and to post my many and varied craft failures: TikTok has always seemed to me the scrolling-pit from which I would not return.
I was right. Within 24 hours, Lazlo’s video had more than 100,000 views. People all over the world were heavily invested in this small bird’s story. Comments like ‘Lazlo is me at breakfast time’, ‘Lazlo in The Pot of Shame is giving me LIFE’ and ‘I hope one day I get an Angry Pom-Pom like this’ came pouring in. ‘The time-out pot. He is FURIOUS!’
So far, so much fun – the only time I’ve gone viral before was moaning about people leaving litter on a beach. For whatever reason this little fellow had captured the attention of the Algorithm Gods, and I could see a social media career ahead of him.
Sadly, it wasn’t to be. Lazlo died after three days with me. I don’t know why – he seemed fine on his last feed – but the odds of survival for wild baby birds are slim. Should I even have taken him in? He may never have lived his fullest, wildest life after being raised in captivity, but doesn’t every little life deserve a chance?
A sad ending then.
But maybe not …
Many TikTokkers commented that they’d donate to their local rescue in Lazlo’s name. And when Lazlo appeared on editor Laura’s TikTok, she recognised the mad bird rescuer lady, and asked me to write this, so I can share some info on what to do if you ever find a wild baby bird.
The simple answer is leave them, usually.
What to do
Fledglings spend time on the ground – closely watched by their parents – as part of their development. The exception is if they’re injured or if the parents don’t return. You can carefully examine a small bird and then return it whence it came: it is a myth that parent birds reject babies that have been touched by humans.
Caring for a corvid isn’t for the faint-hearted (chopped raw baby mice, anyone?) and nine times out of ten you should contact your local wild bird rescue charity who will always help and advise. It’s not like Disney, they probably won’t grow up to be your magic familiar. And they frequently die, which is horribly upsetting.
But this one little bird made a significant impact on an awful lot of people – me especially. I’m now in touch with country-wide corvid rescues to see how I can help and get more involved.
So well done, Lazlo, you angry little pom-pom. Raaawk in peace.
By Laura Beddow
