The Saga Continues…
Now I can take a darn joke as well as the next person, but I DO have my stinkin’ limits.
Yesterday I had finished posting this here blog thing and was happily (OK, not really) sweeping the floor when I stopped dead in my tracks. What the holly hek-a-ma-noli was I hearing?
Was it…NO! It couldn’t be! Where…DAMN!!!!
Under one of couch was a cat. Under the cat was a…wait for it…baby bird! Oh, and not just ANY bird. NOOOOOO! It was a CHICKEN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I am WAY past the point of seeing anything remotely funny about this crap! Please take your mentally-challenged, unaware-of-climate birds and shove them so far up your Milky Way that they’ll never see the light of day again.
The stupid, ¾ dead thing was drenched in either melted snow or cat spit. Possibly both. So we stuck it in the middle of a rolled-up heating pad, donned our coats, hats and boots (did I mention it’s about 30 degrees right now? And THAT’S when it’s WARM!) and went outside to follow the friggin’ cat who was on the prowl for another squeaky toy.
|Walk to the end and hand
a right. There, behind all the
myrtle and ivy you’ll find
the STUPID NEST!
Our STEEP front hill is surrounded by a lovely limestone wall my Grandfather cut and laid my hand. (He was a wonderful overachiever.) In the 60 or so years since it was constructed, ivy and myrtle have grown over almost every square inch of it. (I’m setting the scene so you can fully feel my pain.)
On the steepest part of the hill, behind the thickest patch of myrtle, we found her. Get this, a tree root had pushed one of the stones out of the wall leaving an eight inch my 6 inch hole. Where a bantam had built a nest. Where the chick had tumbled out as soon as it tried to eek out from under Mommy.
A chase worthy of any Benny Hill episode ensued. Two pissed off women (me and The Girl), a freakin-the-fudge-nuts-out Momma hen, and two cats went running, sliding, skidding, and tripping (and occasionally flying) around the snow and ice covered front yard.
The noises? Were HILARIOUS!
We finally trapped the *insert creative long and loud string of obscenities and insults here* bird and managed to move her and the remains of her nest to a cat carrier where she’s STUCK and unable to return to her wall-nest.
After sitting for several hours holding the ¾ dead chick (dubbed January) and watching it slowly come back to life (why do I do these things? Oh yeah…I’m a sucker!) we managed to get her shoved back under her Mom. Her Mom, mind you, who doesn’t even seem aware there’s anything moving under her. YAY!
Where was Jack during this whole reviving-of-the-chick period? Losing her little birdie-mind. It would appear she has one heck of a serious jealous streak in her. Who knew!
What’s the moral of this story? I’m
an idiot! a sucker! And I am surrounded by mentally challenged birds who are filled with an overwhelming need to repopulate the Earth with MORE mentally challenged birds! And come Spring? I’m hanging up posters all over the darn city…
“FREE TO GOOD HOME! (And if you’re not a good home? LIE to me!)”