Un-krispy kritters

The most direct way for a non-pet critter to get into the house is down the chimney.

I have never lived through the excitement of having a bird's nest stuffed in the chimney but, as a young home owner, I did come home one afternoon to something large and grey rustling and coughing amidst the ashes of the fireplace. I scarcely dared approach the thing but realized, one way or another, I would have to deal with it.

It proved to be a pigeon, in far more deadly fear of me than I of it. I dealt with it by going to the next door neighbour to ask for help. What followed was very instructive... concerning how not to solve a pigeon in the fireplace problem.

It might seem the first step would be to remove the screen. What happens when you do, however, is the terrified creature becomes energized by the hope of escape and dusts the whole house liberally with ashes. The neighbour huffed and puffed all over the house, always just two steps behind the scrabbling bird, and popped several nitroglycerine tablets before the pigeon finally burst out the door in a flurry of dusty feathers and quite un-pigeon-like squawks.

Last Saturday, the cats became oddly interested in the wood stove in our living room. The focus of the cats and the scratching sound coming from inside the stove attracted our attention, too. The awe in my son's voice spoke of his long connection with the world of Harry Potter, "There is something in the stove... a bird kind of thing."

It was a bird kind of thing, sparrow-coloured, but larger than a robin. I'd never seen anything like it. It had the beak of a hawk, and I imagined the ash-stirring feet ended in claws to match the beak. I knew we didn't want to be shooing a bird so lethally endowed around the house. In fast-forward, I imagined what such a beak and such talons could wreak.

Petersen's Bird Guide informed it us the creature was a kestrel, but gave no advice on how to remove one from the fireplace. After much consideration and consultation, we penned up the cats and closed all the doors except the one leading to the outside and freedom. I was elected to armour myself in hockey gloves, leather jacket and bug-net hat, to coral the kestrel into a bag and out the door. The best laid plans of mice and women....

The kestrel escaped as soon as the door to the stove opened. It flew into the ceiling, leaving a bird-print etched in wood ash on the white ceiling, and fell, stunned, to the floor. Or maybe it was playing dead. I bundled it into an afghan, carried it to the doorstep and, with due caution, unrolled it. The kestrel lurched out of sight.

It didn't even stop to say thank you!