Between our
carport and our deck we have two ferns hanging plants.
Earlier this
year some birds made a nest, in one of the ferns, had eggs, then apparently the eggs hatched,
the babies took their flying lessons, then everybody flew off with a happy
ending, as far as we were concerned, anyway.
Then some
birds built a nest in the other hanging basket.
I water the ferns every day and usually a bird takes flight, probably
teed off because of the interruption.
Yesterday
morning I did my usual routine, watering the hanging baskets, when I watered
the one with the birds in it I heard a painful and fearful squawking.
Then on the
carport floor I saw a little bird flutter around. It jumped.
It flapped its little wings and flew about a foot. Then it jump around
like a yo-yo controlled by a novice yo-yo operator then fly another foot crying
and repeat the process.
I did what
any sensitive caring person would do: I
ran inside and got my camera thinking this would be a great Facebook shot.
But then, I
had second thoughts and left my camera and went out in the yard to try to help
it.
It was
hopping and taking short flights in the front yard. It have already worked itself halfway across
the yard. Its mother was swooping down
trying to guide and protect it.
I thought I
would pick up the little baby bird and put it back in the nest.
I caught up
with it, reached down and with both hands cupped it up. It instantlly jumped out of my hand.
The mother
bird was sqawking at me like screaming, "Haven't you done enough? Leave my child alone!"
I decided it
would be best to the let the baby bird and bird parents handle this situation,
even if I was the one to blame.
I went back
in.
Anna went
out to water her little plants on the carport table and I sat my sights on
another project.
Anna
hollered for me. I ran outside and she
told me the baby bird was on the floor, directly under the hanging fern with
the nest in it. I supposed its mother
guided it back.
Again I
swooped it up with cupped hands and itstarting chirping in a scared sound and
tried to jump out of my hands again.
I reach over the hanging plant
and uncupped my hands, "Bombs
away!"
It was still
crying as it fell into the greenery, but instantly stopped screaming when it
landed in its nest.
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