We went to a beautiful house on a farm with the most spectacular menagerie I've ever seen. It goes without saying that I COMPLETELY FREAKED OUT over the baby animals.
Kissing a baby pony born last month.
Kissing a tiny lump of butter in the shape of a bulldog puppy.
The alpacas, emus, donkeys, pigs, peacocks, exotic pheasants, and roosters did not want to be kissed and were therefore irrelevant.
At home, I found a baby bird squawking and flapping his wings helplessly on a ledge inside our building. He was so disoriented that he couldn't find his way out and seemed scared and weak. "BABY ANIMAL IN DISTRESS!" I thought, as I climbed up a banister and balanced precariously on the ledge.
I scooped him up and called Fauxhawk. "Come right down, I've got a baby bird!"
He was too weak to fly. We took him upstairs, shoved the cats in the bathroom, improvised a cage with a salad spinner and some TP, and put him out on the balcony near the flowers. He was so sweet - he let us pick him up and stroke the downy bits that still clung to his body. He seemed to like the attention, and nestled comfortably in the salad bowl.
We tried to feed him water from a turkey baster but he refused our offerings. Finally, Fauxhawk looked up a recipe for baby bird gruel and I ran out to the grocery store to get the ingredients."I'll name him Habib," I thought, remembering the Arabic word for "darling."
Waiting in line, I got a call from Fauxhawk.
"Honey, I don't think he's going to make it."
"What? I was just with him. I was holding him and he was fine!"
"I can't get him to eat. He's not moving."
I rushed home. We stood over the salad spinner in silence, poking him a few times just to make sure.
"Maybe he'll wake up." We had both imagined that he would be gone in the morning, having rested comfortably for the night in his makeshift nest.
"I think that's a dead bird," I said sadly. "Should we sing a hymn or something?" Instead, we eulogized him.
"At least he died quietly. It was a good death for a bird."
"He was such a sweet little thing."
"Bless his feathery little soul," said Fauxhawk.
Baby bird, we never knew ye, but we loved you all the same.
xox
Top photo by Fauxhawk, second photo by Liz (owner of aforementioned butter lump).
Kissing a baby pony born last month.
Kissing a tiny lump of butter in the shape of a bulldog puppy.
The alpacas, emus, donkeys, pigs, peacocks, exotic pheasants, and roosters did not want to be kissed and were therefore irrelevant.
At home, I found a baby bird squawking and flapping his wings helplessly on a ledge inside our building. He was so disoriented that he couldn't find his way out and seemed scared and weak. "BABY ANIMAL IN DISTRESS!" I thought, as I climbed up a banister and balanced precariously on the ledge.
I scooped him up and called Fauxhawk. "Come right down, I've got a baby bird!"
He was too weak to fly. We took him upstairs, shoved the cats in the bathroom, improvised a cage with a salad spinner and some TP, and put him out on the balcony near the flowers. He was so sweet - he let us pick him up and stroke the downy bits that still clung to his body. He seemed to like the attention, and nestled comfortably in the salad bowl.
We tried to feed him water from a turkey baster but he refused our offerings. Finally, Fauxhawk looked up a recipe for baby bird gruel and I ran out to the grocery store to get the ingredients."I'll name him Habib," I thought, remembering the Arabic word for "darling."
Waiting in line, I got a call from Fauxhawk.
"Honey, I don't think he's going to make it."
"What? I was just with him. I was holding him and he was fine!"
"I can't get him to eat. He's not moving."
I rushed home. We stood over the salad spinner in silence, poking him a few times just to make sure.
"Maybe he'll wake up." We had both imagined that he would be gone in the morning, having rested comfortably for the night in his makeshift nest.
"I think that's a dead bird," I said sadly. "Should we sing a hymn or something?" Instead, we eulogized him.
"At least he died quietly. It was a good death for a bird."
"He was such a sweet little thing."
Baby bird, we never knew ye, but we loved you all the same.
xox
Top photo by Fauxhawk, second photo by Liz (owner of aforementioned butter lump).
