Just got off the phone with Jenny, a lady who lives in my parents' old building on the Upper West Side. When I was a teenager I babysat for her now-grown daughter, and these days I walk her dog once a week.
The last time I came to her place, the note she'd left me read, "Don't be alarmed by the bird in the box!" Yes -- when I looked around I found a shoebox with a little bird inside it, a young blue jay that wasn't blue yet. Jenny is, like, an amazingly tenderhearted person and I guess she "rescued" the bird because she thought it was hurt. This was on one of those days last week that was dangerously hot, too.
So I asked her about it today: "How's the bird doing?" "Oh!" she cried. "It went back to its mom!" Apparently the bird experts she contacted (these people do exist in the city; they're the ones who hunt for lost parrots and all that) told her to just set it free again in the same place where she found it. She was all scared that it would be abandoned, because she had already touched it.
Know this! The notion that birds won't take back their young after humans touch them is a myth!
So, yeah, Jenny put the little blue jay back under the tree where she found it; it flopped around; after five minutes or so the mother blue jay came along and checked on it. And it looked like they made plans to just go back to the nest in a minute after the baby had finished flying practice for the day. Its two-night stay at Jenny's animal hotel had left it none the worse for wear.
Urban wildlife buffs, I hope you have found this story adorable. I did.