Another silly and random bonus post is here, and this one involves avian babies. I was at the hardware store looking for a carbon monoxide detector when I discovered, much to my delight, that this was the time of year they have baby chicks! The first sign was the chicken coop they had on display just past the main entrance. The second sign was the chirping. Cheeping. Cheerping! Continue reading Bonus Time: Chicks and Ducks Need Hardware, Too
I’m not miniature, though. The animas I rescue are. Ahem. Have you ever found a baby bird? Well, I have. All right, that’s the end of the post. You may leave now. What’s that, I really should elaborate? Well, if you insist. Ahem, every once in a while, I have encountered baby birds, who are most definitely some of the most adorable things ever (except when they’re really young and creepy looking). And some of my most delightful memories involve the times when I had a chance to save the poor dears (and turtles, I love saving turtles, which are particularly convenient, too, as they come in their own boxes for easy handling).
It first happened when I was about 5 or so, a baby bird myself, pretty much, and I found this baby bird lying in the grass in our backyard. I tried to pick it up, but every time it showed off its crazy ninja grip by holding onto the grass with its little bird talons. Unable to extricate the avian infant, I told my parents about its perilous plight, though since it was so long ago, and kids always forget stuff a lot, as they don’t have the clarity of mind to keep journals, nor the handwriting to leave the things legible years later, I don’t remember what became of the bird, aside from a suspicion that it now goes on to travel the world as a minstrel, singing ballads about my heroism. Yep. That definitely is what must have happened.
And then a good 5 or 6 years later, my mom and I found another baby bird, but first I must warn you, this exciting tale is soon to make mention of a heinous crime we also committed as a result. This little bird toddler was in the neighbors’ backyard, hobbling about like it was hurt, and the neighbors had this big, weird dog. Often when I’d go in our backyard, the dog would make all manner of efforts to assault me, so it was fortunate that side of our fence was much taller than the other sides or surely I would have been sliced to ribbons, which would, in turn, be tied into lovely bows for thoughtful gifts. (You could easily climb over the rest of the fence. It was lacking in basic security features, as you may suspect. Aside from the motion-sensing turrets. But, sometimes I wondered if that was enough. I mean, we had an old model and everything.) And so we had a dilemma on our hands. Trespass and save the bird from the dog when it eventually returns to wreak havoc and nonsense (honestly, I don’t know where the dog was, but I hear it may have had an unfulfilling job somewhere), or risk life imprisonment by going into the neighbor’s yard (it turned out they had an unlocked gate in the back, and they forgot to arm their own motion-sensing turrets, luckily for all involved) and retrieving the small creature?
We went with the much more dangerous, but much more noble, option two, something we would not normally do unless critter babes were in utmost peril. But, then came the problem of what to do with the baby. We can’t just let it limp around our yard, as bloodthirsty bunnies (not unlike the one in that “Monty Python” movie…) were known to congregate in our yard, even after we got the restraining order. So we put it in a shoebox (we didn’t close the shoebox; we’re not sickos), and I sat in the backyard watching over it as we pondered over what to do next. All the while, the feathery youngster kept opening its mouth, and I would give it bird seed (and I hope very much now that was okay, as it was a baby bird, but not a baby-baby, but I also wasn’t about to get on my hands and knees, pulling worms out of the dirt, in order to mash them up for the bird, either; that’s the quickest way to making a baby bird a spoiled, little snob).
Later that day, I don’t remember what led up to these events, but we brought the bird up to the top of the big hill behind our house (which hardly seemed natural due to its strange shape, causing me to now wonder if we lived near the sight of a past landfill, though I didn’t detect an odor) and set the box down. Another bird began to fly over, swooping back and forth over the box, and we could only assume the mother had found her wayward child. I don’t remember what happened afterward, but I do think all went well for that particular bird, who later became a screenwriter and wrote a play about the whole thing. You can watch it on Birdway.
Since then, we never really got to save anymore baby birds, though. We did have a whole bunch of babies (we’re still on the topic of baby birds, by the way; they were not human babies, as that would have been really creepy) living in a bush in the backyard, but they didn’t require saving. We also had kittens and a cat mother living outside my window at one point in another house, which was quite a delightful view if there ever was one. And in the house afterward, we uncovered a bunch of baby bunnies, not yet old enough to maul us like typical bunnies. And now it’s been some time since I’ve encountered any baby animals, and I miss them. I miss them so much that I may just purchase some baby animals, set them in my backyard, then, promptly rescue them. All I’ve saved lately were earwigs and moths, which is less than thrilling. The rest of the insects, I squished. Because they aren’t aesthetically pleasing like mammal and avian babies. I’m also nice to baby reptiles, by the way, but the lizard I saved from being stuck in a window somehow wasn’t a baby; it was just an unintelligent adult. Okay, now the post really is done. Run along now.
Duck, Rescuer of Animal Infants, Portable Turtles, and Stupid Lizards