~by Susi Pittman

February in North Florida is the most brutally cold month of the year. February 1997 was no different, except that we seemed to be having exceptionally cold “northeaster’s” in rapid succession, something we aren’t used to.

I looked out the windows at the dunes and the beach with the grey low clouds hovering above them and I felt reluctance to take my dog Dutch down to the beach for her morning walk. It wasn’t an inviting picture at all. But, knowing how Dutch loved the beach rain or shine, hot or cold, I couldn’t disappoint her. So, I told my husband, Greg, “We’re headed out.” He looked up from his paper and coffee, smiled and said, “Dutch, you are one lucky dog that she loves you so much. Take care you two.”

As we crossed the boardwalk down to the shore, I could see that Dutch and I would be all alone. No one else in their right mind would be out in 35-degree weather with 40-mile-an-hour winds, yet, I felt drawn to be there.

There is something spiritual about the ocean in turmoil. I think of Jesus with the disciples on the roaring seas which calmed at His very command. Then my mind drifts into thoughts of how creation rebels against the evil of man and I am resolved in my stewardship of peace.

Dutch ran ahead of me coming to a quick stop to smell where an earlier dog walker had passed. It was comforting to know that there was another dog-lover as crazy as me devotedly out walking too.

I looked ahead and saw something rolling up in the pounding surf. It rolled again and again and the closer I got, the more I could see it was a bird, thinking to myself that it appeared to be a dead pelican. Poor thing I thought.

Dutch ran past me and got to the bird first. I saw her nuzzle the bird and then stand back quickly, starting to bark.

Hmmm…perhaps it wasn’t dead.

I looked down upon the crumpled bird and thought that it didn’t look quite like a pelican, though it was a large water bird. As I leaned closer to raise its head out of the water, the eye opened revealing a deep red orb. “Dutch, it’s alive!” What we had stumbled upon was a northern Common Loon.

I had read a book on the lives of loons and found their story to be fascinating. Even more beautiful and mysterious is their Call.

The loon continued to look right into my eyes and we both knew I had to do something.

I unzipped my wind-breaker, picking the bird up, cradling its feet and torso in my left arm and holding his rather pointed beak in my right hand and I secured him inside my jacket. Dutch and I headed quickly back home.

Opening the door wide, I called out, “Greg come here, I have a loon, hurry, I need your help!” His response upon seeing this large bird was “What is it, a turkey?” You have to understand that being native Floridians, this weathered bird was a shell of what it should have been and looked quite pitiful.

“No, it’s a loon,” I shouted. “Help me get a box.”

We dried the bird with towels, Dutch watching over it like a mother hen, and placed it all wrapped up and warm in a large cardboard box. I went to the kitchen to get of all things, a “turkey- baster” which I filled with fresh water and gave it to the loon who drank it with abandon. I petted it and continued to dry it and decided to name it Corky, because as the Creator would have it, he wasn’t allowed to sink into death.

I then phoned the county wildlife rescue agency which just happened to have a man who tended to the hurt and sick loons that visited during the winter. He would take the bird in.

Two weeks passed. I checked in with the rescue agency and they said that the bird had made a magnificent recovery and had just been released off Anastasia Island. I was thrilled.

It was exactly the next day, Dutch and I were off to the beach for our morning walk. Blue skies, a crisp 38-degrees, calm seas and glowing sunshine. It was picture perfect.

As we neared the spot where we had found the loon my mind reminisced back to that “red-eye” opening and gazing at me. Then I heard Dutch bark. I looked up to see her gazing out into the water. There not more than 20-feet from shore was only one lone bird, a loon, swimming and splashing as if in celebration of the day.

I don’t believe in coincidences….I do believe in God remaining anonymous in the moment. Why was there a loon, the only bird within eyesight, frolicking off the shore in exactly the same spot that I had found Corky?

The immediate joy that I felt in my heart when I laid eyes on that loon and Dutch’s recognition especially, affirmed to me that it was Corky. For ten minutes the loon swam to and fro, diving and rising and splashing. He would come close to the beach and look at Dutch and I and then “walk on water” diving back into the blue only to rise again shaking his head and flapping his wings. It was as if he was joyfully sharing our company.

Then, in a moment he was taking off in flight…it was so beautiful! I watched him disappear over the horizon.

How can you describe being part of an intimate moment in time that reflects God’s presence in a wild creature as it shares Him with you in such a joyful way.

I will never forget finding Corky and the day that he said goodbye. God leaves none of His creation unattended. And if you’re lucky enough, one day you too will share that special moment when you witness the love of a good a great Creator looking back at you through the eyes of His wild creatures and saying “thank you.”

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Susi Pittman is founder of CatholicStewardsofCreation.com and Owner-President of Twin Oaks Publishing; she is author of Animals in Heaven? Catholics Want to Know!; an advocate for the Florida Catholic Conference; a member of the St. Joseph’s Catholic Council of Women in Jacksonville, Florida; an Associate of the Sisters of St. Joseph, St. Augustine;a member of the Florida Publishers Association, Independent Book Publishers Association, the National Association of Professional Women, the ASPCA, the Humane Society of the United States and the National Audubon society.