Life Is Giving Me The Bird

I'm scared of birds. Fear... bordering on minor terror. I'd rather pick up a snake any day of the week than hold a bird. One might think that this is a minor issue, as life doesn't send many birds one's way. One would be wrong.

In the last two months I've had as many birds briefly enter my life, much to my perplexity and panic.

The first was last month when an as yet flightless but feathered young bird fell out of one of our trees into the driveway. We weren't given much choice: unless he was moved, he was roadkill. So, we had to rescue him... to great excitement and chaos. After unsuccessful attempts to return him (or her) to a tree--any tree--we had no choice but to make a little nest in a box for it, so it could rest and not kill itself with futile fluttering and repeated landings on the road.

This disturbing incident was resolved when we put the box with the little nest and bird in the woods behind our house. It was his best bet. After checking a couple of days later, there was no sign of the bird nor signs of his demise. Successful in my books.

The second bird entered our lives through the front door earlier this week. I opened it up, stepped outside and watched as a little bird flew up from under the porch. As I turned around, I glimpsed another as it flickered through the door. It went straight to the laundry room and ended up in an uncovered air duct. As our laundry facilities are jerry-rigged to work upstairs, we have hoses and such going down through an otherwise unused vent. In which the bird found a temporary prison.

Luckily, the story ended well. For the bird, that is. The laundry room had to be dismantled to get the bird out and has yet to be put back together.

I didn't get a picture of the bird either as we were too busy chasing him around the ceiling and piles of clean laundry. Oh well. Maybe next time.

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