PEEEEEEEEEP!
This is what a baby robin looks like.
Note the more-than-superficial resemblance to a baby chicken, like one of the three that used to be able to get out of the coop.
Now, imagine that Oscar (Note to readers: Oscar is my dog) finds such a baby bird, partially feathered out, behind the coop. Imagine how concerned both you and Oscar might be that such a critter has escaped both its housing and my notice. Terrifying.
And I had no idea what species the poor bird was. Turkey? Chicken? How old? Which of the seven flocks does this critter belong to? Very stressful.
Until, of course, after much chasing through blackberries, I manage to pick up the critter. At that point, the mouth gaping behavior presented a clue that this might not be a domesticated bird. The second, and more definitive, clue was when at least two robins began tripping their shit and dive-bombing me while emitting emergency bird distress calls.
I took their point and set the chick down and wished them all the best.
It’s a bit reassuring that someone with your fowl experience (sorry, I couldn’t resist) had difficulty recognizing the nature of the bird…We have baby birds in our yard all the time. I can tell doves from quail, but that’s it. Gizmo, our 14-pound attack dog, is interested in all of them. He doesn’t care what type they are. He just wants ‘em! Fortunately, he’s pretty slow.