Is that you, Santa?

As usual, my wife and I are sitting on the living room floor around the coffee table having dinner while watching the latest Michael Jackson news, when a scuffling sound emerges from the fireplace. Yuriko looks at me. I look at her. We both cock our heads. We dismiss it. As we resume eating, we hear the noise again. "Police raided Michael Jackson's personal physician..." is muted while we listen intently again. Without doubt, there is a noise coming from the fireplace.

Being the logical, non-alarmist I say, "Must be the neighbour messing around outside." My wife looks at me skeptically but refrains from commenting. I get up and look outside. The suspected neighbour is not to be found.

I retake my seat and soon the noise reoccurs. This time I conjecture that it must be birds on top of the chimney picking at the moss. "Those woodpecker type birds are always looking for grubs under the moss. Remember how we couldn't figure out that hammering sound in the other room a year ago? Must be the same thing happening here. Sound gets amplified and distorted as it comes down the flue." When we first moved into the house, we could not understand the periodic rattling sound that interrupted us, usually during breakfast. At first we attributed it to neighbours doing construction, but soon discovered that a friendly woodpecker was periodically inspecting our other aluminum chimney.

As I head outside to confirm my theory, I find patches of dried moss. Ah hah! Proof. However, I don't see any of the birds around. I justify myself by recalling how flighty they are. Just walking outside was enough to get them to disappear into the surrounding trees and out of sight.

I come in again. As we try to resume our dinner, we hear the sound again. I stand very close to the fireplace. Definitely,it is coming from inside the fireplace. Now, what is it?

I figure it is one of two things; either a squirrel has found its way into the flue and fallen to the bottom or a bird has done the same. Fearing that if I open the baffle a squirrel will come running out and ransack our house, I close all the doors possible and try to block off were it might run. Perhaps I have watch A Christmas Vacation one too many times.

Slowly, cautiously, I open the baffle and peer in. Thankfully, it does not coming rushing out. Thankfully, it is not a rat, nor some really big spider, nor the feared hyperactive squirrel. The tail feathers are blue. It is a Stellar Jay that has somehow fallen to the bottom and has no way of getting out.

As he seems oblivious to my presence, I fear that he may have injured himself. Falling down the flue, he could have easily broken a wing or damaged his leg. After managing to get the baffle open, I reach in with my gloved hand. Again, very little response. Eventually, he does turn his head so that my flashlight catches the sparkle of his eye. This time, as I put my hand in, his beak opens in a defensive move. I ask my wife to get a peanut to see if we can improve his mood but he shows no reaction.

Deciding that he will not move on his own accord, I gently reach in with one hand and try to wrap my fingers around his body. Birds are not the easiest animals to grab hold of with their wings, spindly legs, sharp beaks, and my overriding if unwarranted concern about their delicateness. Ideally, I would use both hands but the construction of the fireplace limits me to just one.

As I gently increase my grip, I coax the bird towards me in an attempt to free him. At first he is resistant, then, as he sees a possible escape, he bolts toward me, bounces off my chest, flies to the ceiling, bounces off the wall, and then down the hallway where he lands on the ground. Quickly, I take a blanket and smother him as gently as possible. Miraculously, he appears to have escaped injury from landing inside the fireplace and I don't want him to be injured now. The blanket calms him enough so I am able to carry him outside. There, he flies immediately to the nearest tree looking no worse for having endured this ordeal.

Feeling relieved and satisfied, we go inside to inspect the damage. Apart from ash on my shirt and wing prints on the ceilings and walls, everything appears to be in order. The ash easily wipes off the paint and my shirt comes clean a day later.

We feel thankful that the bird was not injured and that we were home when this happened. Just a week earlier, we had been in Japan for two weeks. We care not to think how long the bird would have suffered without our intervention. We can only hope that he, nor any other bird, does not suffer a similar experience.