A few years ago, I found a fallen baby bird - fell out of a nest. I placed it back in the nest, but it’s parents abandoned it. I decided rather than let it starve, I’d feed it.
It was old enough to eat crunched-up crickets (I had a bearded dragon at the time) and some other stuff I tried. I did this for a few weeks - it fell out of the nest again twice and I ended up putting the nest in a semi-lidded box. Anyway, I became quite obsessed with this little thing as I’m want to do.
The bird was starting to flap its wings, and hopping around a lot, so being a bird expert, I decided it was time to teach it to fly. I did this by first holding it cupped in my hands while running around the back yard. A few days later, I started to loosen my grip a little, and incorporate up and down movements while running, to give it the feeling of ‘lift’.
We eventually got to the stage of me holding its legs and giving it little ‘scares’ while standing on the top rung of a ladder in the yard. My then wife came out once, shook her head, and walked back in. All this tuition took about a week.
On the final day, the little thing jumped out of my hand and made it to a weeping mulberry in the garden. I retrieved it, and we repeated this with the bird getting more and more confidence and making greater distances. Finally - the little one took off, circled around the house, and disappeared. I never saw it again.