Meet My Starling, Gulliver

Gulliver, on the ride home.

When the starlings first found our home, they nested in a clump of dense bushes behind our house regularly attacking our Irish Wolfhound, Loki, when he came too close. 

Starlings return to their nesting grounds each year, and even, sometimes, their nests, but a few years later they discovered an even better house in the newly minted barn room I call my sanctuary. They nested in the ceiling above the room, entering through a gap in the wall and roof. 

Everyday, as grandson napped (and grandpa listened for him), I would run off to the barn to practice my flute.  This would excite the little starlings, which I could hear  scratching around above, and they would begin to chirp a cacophony of chirping. 

Fast forward another year, and my husband closed the roof gap, causing them to look elsewhere, and they found another opening in the roof of our home’s deck, much to my husband’s dismay. I didn’t mind as much because it seemed like they kept the population of flies and yellow jackets down.

Fast forward again to this year, my husband closed that hole and forced them to yet another spot, which is where the story of Gulliver takes off. 

Apparently, the starling parents found crevices between the pontoons of our boat, which was parked next to my barn and sanctuary, and thought it a safe place to raise their young. It was a safe place for awhile, until the weather warmed up and we decided to get the boat ready for the lake.

In our defense, we did not know that they were there. How could we? And, quite honestly, starlings are the last things on our mind. Invasive, intrusive, non-native, they crowd out better birds (meaning native ones) and can even be aggressive with humans. They are considered nuisances and we are encouraged to remove them, even kill them, they’re that bad.

Imagine our surprise later that night, after an evening of boating, when we found one, 4-5 days old, splayed out on a pontoon, shipwrecked, soaked, cold, hungry, weak, but just having survived 9 1/2 hours with no food, 45 minutes traveling down a highway, and 3 hours riding up and down Long Lake.

This is the beginning of Gulliver’s Adventures, but in this story, Gulliver is a week old starling who only just opened his eyes and saw his new mama.

Me.

I’m not sure where this story is going. Gulliver continues to do well, but I didn’t want a bird, and definitely not a starling. 

Since starlings are invasive, we have few options. If I take him to a wildlife refuge they’ll humanely euthanize him. (Sorry, but he came too far on that boat to have his little life end like that, even if he is a mere starling.)

On the other hand, since I’m now hand-feeding him, he can never safely be released into the wild. At least, that is what the rescue says, but I have read a couple stories of it being done “successfully,” if you can trust them.

This seems to leave only one real option, or one that I can accept, he has to be a pet. Mine or someone else’s.

That is, if he survives.

As always, I need to take a deep breath and then take one step at a time, doing what my heart guides at each step. Maybe my conscience, too. Basically, what I can live with doing, or not doing.

The day after boating, we shined a flashlight into the crevices of the pontoons to find the nests, there were three, and then we raked them out onto the ground. Whatever was in them had been swept mostly away in the water, except one other baby who had died.

Gulliver should not be alive today either. But he is. And he’s back at his ancestral home, our place. 

I have been studying everything I can to know how to feed him and what keeping a pet starling would look like.

Turns out, Mozart had one, and it was able to hum a section of his music, which he transposed with its subtle variations. 

Starlings are song birds and have the same ability as parrots to mimic speech. They are supposedly fiercely bonded to their humans (and flocks) and are quite gregarious and smart.

All of this information is brand new to me.

Having a baby starling is like having a baby. He eats, sleeps, and poops. His feedings are about every twenty minutes, when he starts to stir and chirp out in his sweet little voice. Then I feed him soaked cat food pellets, shoving them down his open beak one by one. After he eats, he falls right back asleep. Lucky for me, he doesn’t eat between dusk and dawn. 

He sleeps on a heated blanket covered in towels, and tissues, which are removed about every hour and exchanged for new ones. It’s really quite easy as long as you have absolutely no plans for the next three weeks.

 —which, of course, we do.

And so, I ordered a bird carrying cage to take him with us on the road. 

Quirky? Yes, life is so quirky. 

I guess we will just have to wait and see how this story writes itself.  And, in the meantime, perhaps, find babysitters for our baby starling.

(Video. Age day 7-8, 3 days after rescue. Gulliver is able to keep his head lifted, walk around wobbling, and both eyes are open.That’s food he dropped while being fed, not poo.)