During the weekends, especially on Sundays, I prefer to wake up around 8, relax with a cup of coffee, and read the news. Sometimes I wake up to my dog, who wants to be let out a little early, or maybe it got cold during the night and he just wants to cuddle. That’s also an ideal wake-up experience. That’s just how I am. Coffee, puppy, peace and tranquility.
This morning had none of those things. I woke up to (of all things) a violent squawking. I rushed towards my sister’s room to free whatever prey Boots the gray tabby had caught this time (she’s a prolific hunter, always presenting me -because my sister doesn’t appreciate her abilities- with her gifts which have included baby rabbits, mice, voles, skinks, and her favorites… little songbirds) Today’s vic? A songbird resembling a white breasted nuthatch. I did the right thing and ran to save the poor bird, since it was still relatively healthy, and Boots had only began her torture. I tried to take the bird outside to fly off, but she (he) wouldn’t leave my finger. So, naturally, I placed it on my shoulder and began looking for a box. After I had the bird all settled, I asked a close friend who had just finished a pre-vet degree what I should do. Apparently, there was nothing to do but wait for the shelter to open on Tuesday and keep it fed/watered. So I tried to feed it. Apparently, that was a no go, because the ungrateful beast tried escaping the warm, cozy nest I made for it. So, after saving it from being captured by Boots again, I placed the box inside the dog kennel. I had noticed it trying to fly into the kennel, and thought that since it couldn’t fly in, it wouldn’t be able to fly out. At first, this accommodation seemed to work for the little jerk. Of course, give them an inch, and they’ll take a mile, right? Wouldn’t you figure that the idiot would just waltz out of the kennel? I should have known better, really. After I couldn’t find the bird for 30 minutes (it was under my bed!), I decided that a girl has to do what a girl has to do.
I called in Boots.
It took my little friend exactly 7 minutes to do what I couldn’t in 30, and after catching the bird, I took it from her and placed it on a branch outside. I know I should have placed it back in the box, but c’mon. She obviously didn’t want to be here. It was only after I noticed 45 minutes later that she had fallen out of the tree and was just hopping everywhere when I took pitty on the dumb animal, and caught her, and placed her back in the box. I ended up tying the box shut to make sure the damn thing didn’t escape again, but so far it’s worked.
I’ve named the bird Griffin, after the ungrateful griffin in the Protector of the Small series by Tamora Pierce, a noted animal lover. I hope through this experience that I can learn something about taking care of ungrateful things. So far, all I’ve learned is that I would rather have made friends with a crow.
Seriously, though. Crows are cool!
Images:
Skinks –
Voles –
FOR SOME REASON, I can’t paste a photo of Griffin the bird on this blog post. I’ll post a pic in a separate post.
Evidence why crows are cool as beans – https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=noXANTIeuWY
So Maybe I Have No Idea What I'm Doing 