The prognosis looked grim for the little broadwinged hawk.  He was emaciated and dehydrated, with a broken wing, a broken leg and a useless foot.  Even if he survived the weekend, he wouldn't have a future unless he recovered the use of his foot.

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I had just brought this hawk into the Vermont Raptor Center for treatment.  I held him while Nancy, the director, did the exam.  The wing had already started to heal in a contracted position, so he would never fly, but Nancy's biggest concern was for the leg.  It drooped limply below the broken ankle and the foot was swollen.  The bird wasn't using it to grasp.  If the leg and foot recovered, he might find a home at another nature center.  But only if he could grasp with his foot, and that appeared to be a big IF.  One legged birds don't do well in captivity, and he would most likely have to be euthanized. 

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We splinted the leg and wrapped the wing, then set him in a quiet cage with an impromptu nest to help support him with minimal pressure on the injured leg.  Given his condition, Nancy didn't think he would survive the weekend.  If he did, she'd decide what to do next week.

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I was deeply touched by this little hawk's plight.  He was a beautiful immature broadwing with a feisty spirit.  I wanted the best for him, and I wanted to help.  As I drove home, I thought about how to send prayers and healing energy, intending the best possible outcome for him.  That could mean he might eventually be released back into the wild, or if non-releasable transferred to a new home, or he might die.  I was not in a position to know what was possible, nor what would be best for this bird. 

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The following week I called and learned that the bird had was still alive, but no decision had been made.

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As it happened, I suffered a health crisis of my own, and it was over six months before I was able to return to the Raptor Center.  I had not forgotten about the little broadwing, and I asked Nancy what had become of him.  She remembered him well, she said.  When the leg and wing fractures had healed, she put him in a room-sized cage in the infirmary.  The foot was still swollen and he wasn't using it.  She kept intending to euthanize him because the foot wasn’t improving, but just never got around to it.  As winter settled in, some of the birds who normally lived in outside flight cages needed to move inside for protection from the cold.  The broadwing's cage was needed for other birds with better chances. 

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Finally, Nancy went to get him.  As she reached for him, he struck at her -- with both feet!  He had been able to exercise enough on his own during those months to recover most of the use of the injured foot, and he was transferred to a permanent home at another nature center.

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I had always heard that magic manifests itself in the most ordinary ways, and this was a perfect example.  The broadwing needed time to effect its own healing, but Nancy was not a woman normally given to procrastination.  Magic manifested in a perfectly ordinary way by buying the time the bird needed to heal itself.