Today is the last day to join, so if you want in on it, be sure to read over the rules and PM Shakespearicles!I Am a Special Kind of Sentimental Fool · 8:29pm May 3rd, 2016
Holy cow. I'm going to write out what just happened in the last two hours because I have a lot of feelings going on inside of me, and I don't know what to do about them. Sometimes doing memoir writing helps me to process things. It's a bit stream of consciousness, and yes it will be rough. I'm not trying to publish anything, after all.
So kiddo, aka SmallCaliber and I go for our daily walk, and halfway through it we hear this frantic squawking from a tree in a neighbor's yard. I pause because I'm pretty familiar with the wildlife in my area, living so close to the forest, so this didn't sound normal. SmallCaliber seemed to sense something amiss as well and we both looked up at the tree where the ruckus seemed to be coming from. Up in the branches we could see a strange commotion going on with many different kinds of birds. There were crows, blue jays, finches, pigeons, and doves--all squawking and tweeting and hooting. It was like a birdie fight night, I kid you not.
Well in the center of this strange spectacle, I see two little birds going at it with wings beating furiously. A crow follows their fight closely, his caws almost like taunting laughter when both of the little birds falls out of the tree to the grass. The other birds fly off. SmallCaliber and I hang tight, listening with rapt attention. I keep waiting for the birds that fell to fly away. I kept hoping they would fly away. You see, so limited was my view that I had no idea if the birds involved in the fight were baby chicks or not. When nothing happened, my fears grew. The birds were in a neighbor's yard. I didn't know if these people had pets. A dog or cat would easily finish off the birds.
Somehow, knowing that, I couldn't just walk away. It would have been so much simpler to, and I was really irritated with my sentimentality, but I just picked my son up and hiked up the steep hill to the neighbor's fence. I kept praying no one was home. I didn't want to have to explain why it looked like I was trying to be a peeping tom. As I approached, slipping and sliding on fucking pine needles with a babbling 30 lbs. toddler in my noodle arms, one of the birds that fell from the tree upped and flew away. But that was just one. When I reached the fence, I saw a bird-like figure on the grass, wings partially spread, feathers all fluffed and messy, with blood on its neck and breast. It was barely moving. I almost thought it was a toy or some kind of decoration. Then I saw the faint movement of its breathing.
"Shit," I muttered. A quick glance at my son. "Uh... I mean chips," I amended.
Gingerly I crouch down and stare at the bird through the fence. It doesn't move or react at all, but I can see it blinking with exhaustion. It doesn't even twitch when I scoot closer. SmallCaliber happily points the poor thing out. "Birdie!" he exclaims.
"Yes son," I say. "Birdie."
"Hi birdie!" Kiddo waves eagerly.
I keep staring at the bird, at a loss as to what to do. Can I bring the bird back home? Would I hurt it if I moved it? Was I letting my bleeding heart override my sense? How the fuck was I going to carry this thing and corral my son at the same time? Could I call Baloo (my oldest brother, who is visiting from Guantanamo Bay) to come and help me? But he'd just think I was being dumb. Maybe. Possibly. No, no. What am I thinking? If I leave, this poor thing will die. It should have flown away already, but it clearly can't. Screw it, I can do this. I don't need to call Baloo.
Awkwardly I set SmallCaliber down. The first thing he does with his freedom is throw two hair clips he brought from the house down the slope (he insisted on taking them) and as if surprised by this result, whines at me that his precious items are gone.
"Why did you throw those!?" I snap, feeling my stress climb. I don't want kiddo to go down the slope. He'll fall. Possibly straight into the street.
Irritated, I go down to fetch the hair clips, but kiddo follows me. With pursed lips I hand him the hair clips and make him sit down. "Wait for Mama!" I tell him firmly. SmallCaliber just stares up at me. His young mind can't process what is going on. What's at stake.
I go back up the hill, and after a minute of awkward reaching, I manage to gingerly retrieve the bird. He doesn't protest. He barely flutters in my hand. He weighs nothing, and I can feel his heartbeat on my left index finger. Some of his blood gets on my skin.
My distress grows when I realize that even though this bird is so little, I'll have to hold him with both hands to keep him still so he won't hurt himself trying to instinctively fly away. That's an issue when you're out and about with a two-year-old. Kiddo knows better than to go off the sidewalk, but we still have to cross the street at least twice before returning home. Also, without me able to grab SmallCaliber's hand, he will be much more likely to stop and fool around. I want to get home as quickly as possible. I start to regret being too prideful to call Baloo.
The walk back home is not fun. First time we try to cross the street, a car comes up the road. Frantically I try to herd my son back onto the sidewalk with my knees, praying to any gods listening that the person doesn't think too little of me, and that they won't stop to yell at me for letting my toddler run around in the street without holding hands.
Stupid bleeding heart. Stupid prideful moron, I think to myself.
The rest of the way, SmallCaliber kicks at dirt mounds and lollygags near flower bushes. I'm yelling at him to hurry up the whole way. I'm half afraid the bird will die in my hands. I do not want to be holding a dead bird.
When we arrive at my house, I'm relieved to see Baloo is still home. I beat my head against the living room window to get his attention and shout, "Hey! Help me out, please! Open the door for me!"
Bemused, Baloo rises from the couch and lets us inside. He looks at the bird in my hands. "Where'd you find the bird?" he asks. He's not as surprised as I thought he would be, but he still doesn't seem to really comprehend why I seem to be going to so much trouble.
"It got into a fight with another bird and fell out of a tree," I pant. The stress of the journey has me short-winded. "Can you watch your nephew for a minute? I want to take this little guy to the SPCA."
His eyebrow quirks up. "Uh, sure. You think he'll stay with me?"
I grimace. "I hope so."
Baloo moves to the back door and goes out into our courtyard where he grabs a big cardboard box. "Here, put the bird in here. We'll poke holes in it. By the way you got blood on you."
I carefully set the bird down. "Yeah, I know."
All the while, kiddo is hopping around us. "Birdie! Hi! Hi, birdie! Okay, night, night!"
I run and grab my purse, then I guiltily try to tell my son goodbye. All the experts say you should do this instead of vanishing on them. For once, I kind of wish I hadn't listened to them. SmallCaliber did not like the idea of me leaving.
"You should have just left," Baloo says with an exasperated smile.
I roll my eyes as I pick up kiddo. "Yeah, yeah... Can you help me with the bird, please?"
So we get loaded up in the car. Baloo waves us off, and I think I even catch him shaking his head as he rounds the corner out of our carport to the courtyard. I start to back up only to realize my idiot big brother parked right behind me. But I was perhaps an even bigger idiot for gritting my teeth and going to the trouble of painstakingly pulling out, endlessly shifting back and forth between reverse and drive, and at one point even nearly hitting Baloo's new car that he had bought (yes, bought) for this specific visit of his.
After nearly five minutes of fighting, I manage to get free and start the drive to the SPCA. I hear the bird's claws scratching in the box. My throat is tight. I feel on edge. Kiddo, meanwhile, is having a blast. At least one of us was happy. I remember what my therapist tells me, and try to resource my anxiety. I focus on deep breaths and push hard against my steering wheel. It helps to alleviate the tension, but it doesn't make it go away. It's not supposed to, but I wished it would.
We get to the SPCA thirteen minutes later. After some confusion as to where to go, I end up at the animal hospital, sweating and exhausted (the facility is on a fucking hill). I hand the bird over to the volunteer/employee there, explaining what happened and where I found the little creature. I expect to have to pay a fee. I'm surprised that I don't. I dig out some change and put it in their donation jar. I figure I did enough good karma work that pocket change would be enough for a donation.
I get back in the car with kiddo. He asks, "Where birdie?"
"He's with the doctors, son. He had an owie, remember?" I tell him wearily.
On the drive back home, he starts to fuss. I was originally going to go to the supermarket and get some gas for my car, but SmallCaliber is getting rather cranky. It's his nap time and out of nowhere he choked on his own spit. He's coughing and crying. I sing People are Strange by The Doors as a way to placate him. He quiets down. Husbando started singing that song to him since he was just a few months old, and it seems to work every time to calm him down.
Home now. Kiddo fell back to sleep.
I feel like I need a stiff drink.
Goddamn my bleeding heart.
Huh. That happened.
They say the world becomes a better place, one act of random kindness at a time. I'm not saying I would've done the same, but I am saying good on you.
3916803
Yep.
3916811
I think I was channeling Fluttershy or something. I just couldn't freaking walk away. I was pretty annoyed. "If only we hadn't seen this, we could have had a normal morning!"
Ah well...
3916815
Yeah, I do tend to be a "let nature take its course" kind of guy, but then again, I wasn't there, so I really can't say with 100% certainty that I would've done nothing.
Maybe I should go walking more.
*big heart.
You got a big heart, Nine.
3916826
I'm the same way, actually. I dislike it when people try to interfere with nature. Maybe if the bird hadn't fallen into someone's yard, I would have left the matter alone, but I just hated the thought of a dog or a cat munching on his head for the lolz when he was in a man-made enclosure. That felt unfair.
3916827
Yeah. My big heart bullies me.
3916846 When I had aspirations I was studying to be a wildlife rehabilitator. I was going to specialize on opossums.
Never be upset with your desire to aid the animals. They can't do it themselves, you know. I've saved many a creature from certain death, including baby alligators, scorpions, birds (like the awesome great owl), frogs, snakes, coons and the like. I love doing it and I'll keep doing it. I once rode a bike with an injured hawk between the handlebars pecking at my face.
I absolutely love animals. They're fascinating. And they need people like you and I to care for them when they need it. I suggest making it a hobby.