I moved closer to investigate. When I reached down to break the web, I discovered it wasn’t a web at all. It was a piece of fishing line. I gave it a tug and saw it was tangled in the bushes, and the other end was knotted under the car.
One of the boys was sitting on the front deck of the house. I remarked, “Looks like someone booby-trapped your friend’s car.”
He came closer to see what I was talking about. I gave the line a tug. It was tightly jammed under the wheel of the vehicle. “Strange, it seems to go all the way under,” I said.
I walked to the back of the car and saw a robin. It fluttered to get away, but the line, which was wrapped around its tiny leg, held it firmly. The poor bird flapped around on the pavement with only a foot of line for it to move.
Slowly I approached and reached to grab it. When my fingers first touched his feathers it squawked and flapped away from me. I moved faster on the second attempt and managed to get a grip around his trembling body. It squirmed and twisted its head to snap at me, but I held tight.
The boy came closer for a look, and then went for a knife. When he returned, I realized he would probably break the poor bird’s leg when the knife pulled the string tight before cutting it through, so I sent him for scissors. He came back, and we carefully removed the string.
The bird was free, but I held him a little longer, so I could remove one last strand of the line from his tiny leg. It made a great effort and escaped from my grasp. He flew low across the pavement, under a row of mailboxes, and up into a tree. It was free again.
Then I noticed a second robin fly down from a nearby tree and land next to the newly-freed robin. It had stayed close by, as its mate struggled for freedom, and would not have left until freedom or death ended their relationship.
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