Sixty-something woman shares ruminations as she plys the latter third of her life with the caveat that age entitles her to be absolutely outrageous whenever possible.
Sunday, May 06, 2012
It's a cruel world, after all....
Latest, and last, pic of the nest on the front door. Funny little guys. Blow on them, they all open their mouths. Rather, they did. Something tore up the nest last night, and mom and three of the babies went to their reward. One was clinging to the remnants, another was flopping on the front porch, probably fell out. I put them in a bowl with some shredded Kleenex, gave them some sugar water with an eye dropper, and went online to figure out what the hell I was supposed to do now with these tender little unfinished birds. And I found, kind of to my relief, that it is ILLEGAL to raise a wild creature without a license. Imagine that. So, the expert online said to return them to the nest. It is a fallacy that the mother will not care for them if a human handles them. But mom did not show up all morning. So I called the bird rescue people, who, dedicated souls that they are, were in on a Sunday, and took my babies, nest and all, to the bird hospital where they will be raised up and set free. They are numbers 0440 and 0441. I can visit them later this month. Think I will become a member, donate these old birdcages I have in the garage to their cause. So happy this was an option. I would have killed those little things, for sure. With kindness, of course, but, after all, dead is dead.