Baffled Baboon asked for baby bird stories in a recent blogpost, and, having lived in the GFW (God Forsaken Wilderness) for so many years, I’ve got a few. So here you go:
We had 2 chimneys in our house, and birds were always making nests in there. Occasionally, baby birds would fall out of the nests and into the house. Then the fun would begin. We’d all scramble for gloves, and boxes, and anything else we could think of to capture them safely and transport them outside. They were so cute and so scared and I wanted to pet them but was simultaneously terrified of them. Small creatures moving quickly really freak me the feck out. Plus, I’m a little bit of a germaphobe, and birds are full of mites and other strange critters that could potentially make me itch and die. When you grab them, they freak the feck out, too, and start flapping their little wings really hard, making it hard to hold on and not injure them. Usually, we were able to move the screen aside and capture one at a time without them getting loose into the house where they would have to contend with very interested kitties. Once outside, however, there would be a serious debate about where to put them to keep them safe for their parents to find them and safe from the outdoor cats and other bird-munchers. 9 times out of 10, the cats would get them from wherever we’d “safely” stashed them. One time, while we were away on vacation, we got a panicked call from the tenant who lived in the apartment over the garage. He was cat sitting and had come in to feed. Apparently, an adult bird had flown down the chimney and was loose in the house. We advised him to lock up the cats and open all the windows and do his best to usher it outside. He reported success. When we arrived home, however, we discovered bird poop EVERYWHERE. He got the bird out, but didn’t think that it might be a good idea to clean up the feces covering our home from top to bottom. Eesh.
But birds weren’t the only things that got into our house. Besides the ladybug and stinkbug infestations, the creepy crawly invaders, and the occasional snake (I almost crapped my pants just writing that word), we often had mice. Again with the cute things that are too small and dart-y for me to be comfortable with. One time, the cats had trapped a mouse in my parents’ bedroom and were toying with it out of sheer evil pleasure. The little mouse was squeaking desperately, and the cats were, I swear, snickering. Now, my parents’ home was built into a hill, so their bedroom was actually on the 3rd floor. My dad, compassionate soul that he was, grabbed the gloves and scooped the little mouse up and away from the cats, then tossed it out the window, declaring, “I saved it!” To which I replied, “You just threw it out of a third story window!” Le sigh. Good intentions and all that.
Cross your fingers that the new house (it looks like the sale is going through and we’ll be closing on June 22nd) has no such critter issues. Maybe cross your toes and elbows and knees, too. If it does, you should all invest in bourbon stocks, ’cause I’m gonna need a ton of it.