Th weather is looking gloomy today. After a couple weeks of absolutely perfect weather, it seems we're in for some more rain. I don't mind, though. I'm not in a good mood.
Earlier, I witnessed the vicious nature of the animal kingdom. A couple of months ago, a family of birds made a nest under the eaves of my house and I could see them from the kitchen window. I watched them come and go with bits of mud and grass for their nest, I watched them incubate their eggs, and finally I heard the tiny chirps of infant birds. Things seemed to be going well for the family. It gave me some joy to see them each day and watch the goings-on.
Well, yesterday I noticed some other birds hanging out near the nest, agitating the family. After several attempts, one of the strangers got to the nest, started to peck, and flung one of the babies out of the nest onto the concrete about 10 ft below.
He seemed a bit out of it, but was still alive. I knew that interfering would risk the parents rejecting the little guy, but I couldn't watch him die slowly in the hot sun, so I scooped him up in an apparatus I jury-rigged from cardboard, tape, and BBQ tongs and got the little guy back home. I watched from the window and was relieved to see the parents come back and resume feeding as if nothing happened.
I kept a watchful eye on the nest for couple hours, shooing the strange birds away, but after having to step away for an hour, I came back to find a different baby laying on the concrete. This one was was covered with little bloody peck marks, but was also still alive, so once again I got it home.
Darkness fell and it looked like the little guys would see another day. I felt good about myself...thought I'd made a difference, but was horrified to see THREE little birds laying on the ground this morning. This time they weren't moving...
I instantly began to feel remorse and thought about things I could have done to prevent it. At one point yesterday, I considered grabbing a pellet gun and sniping all the bastards that were pecking at the babies, but then debated if killing one to save another was the right thing to do. I will spare you those details (for once), but it was all very philosophical.
As someone who's lost many loved ones for various reasons, I'm not coping with it well. It's like the phantoms of every dead friend and relative have manifested themselves in these birds, opening wounds that I thought healed years ago. You know when your parents used to say "Don't get attached to it", when they'd brought home a live crab, lobster, or fish for dinner. Well, maybe that's what I shoulda done here...if I had never gotten involved, it wouldn't sting so badly.
Well, no more birds outside my window. Bye bye, little guys...I'll miss you.
Earlier, I witnessed the vicious nature of the animal kingdom. A couple of months ago, a family of birds made a nest under the eaves of my house and I could see them from the kitchen window. I watched them come and go with bits of mud and grass for their nest, I watched them incubate their eggs, and finally I heard the tiny chirps of infant birds. Things seemed to be going well for the family. It gave me some joy to see them each day and watch the goings-on.
Well, yesterday I noticed some other birds hanging out near the nest, agitating the family. After several attempts, one of the strangers got to the nest, started to peck, and flung one of the babies out of the nest onto the concrete about 10 ft below.
He seemed a bit out of it, but was still alive. I knew that interfering would risk the parents rejecting the little guy, but I couldn't watch him die slowly in the hot sun, so I scooped him up in an apparatus I jury-rigged from cardboard, tape, and BBQ tongs and got the little guy back home. I watched from the window and was relieved to see the parents come back and resume feeding as if nothing happened.
I kept a watchful eye on the nest for couple hours, shooing the strange birds away, but after having to step away for an hour, I came back to find a different baby laying on the concrete. This one was was covered with little bloody peck marks, but was also still alive, so once again I got it home.
Darkness fell and it looked like the little guys would see another day. I felt good about myself...thought I'd made a difference, but was horrified to see THREE little birds laying on the ground this morning. This time they weren't moving...
I instantly began to feel remorse and thought about things I could have done to prevent it. At one point yesterday, I considered grabbing a pellet gun and sniping all the bastards that were pecking at the babies, but then debated if killing one to save another was the right thing to do. I will spare you those details (for once), but it was all very philosophical.
As someone who's lost many loved ones for various reasons, I'm not coping with it well. It's like the phantoms of every dead friend and relative have manifested themselves in these birds, opening wounds that I thought healed years ago. You know when your parents used to say "Don't get attached to it", when they'd brought home a live crab, lobster, or fish for dinner. Well, maybe that's what I shoulda done here...if I had never gotten involved, it wouldn't sting so badly.
Well, no more birds outside my window. Bye bye, little guys...I'll miss you.
and the little guy seemed to do okay for a while. and then he started to move really awkwardly and kind of fumble around. i thought he was doing some silly baby bird dance and i showed my dad. "that is how they die." he said plainly, not realizing that i was 8 and hadnt yet experienced death. i started to cry and thought that if i just stared at the bird, he wouldnt die. i thought that i could will the life back into him.
my mom, realizing that this probably wasnt the healthiest situation for my young psyche made me go with her to the store, and needless to say, when we came home, the bird was dead. i was crushed. i blamed my mom for making me go with her. if i had been there, the bird wouldnt have died...
so the parents called animal control again to let them know the bird died and find out what to do with the little body. animal control wanted to examine it. that evening a.c. called and told my dad they found copperhead venom in the birds blood and that the neighborhood should be warned.
and here, the story gets good. maybe one or two days later, my brother and i went to the kitchen for some snacks and when we turned on the kitchen light, there was a snake curled up inside the fixture. the shape of the head = poison,
so we called my mom and giggled as she freaked out, screaming for my dad. dad came in and did the dadly thing and dismantled the fixture as he ordered my brother to the garage for a shovel. the snake fell to the ground. a copperhead.
my dad killed that snake so good. he cut it up into tiny bits right there on the kitchen floor with more violence and fury than was really necessary. i like to think that he was killing that snake for me, for my dead baby dove.
i know this is a long comment, but i thought my story might help. if i could send my dad to you to thwack the mean birds, i would.
I understand completely what you mean about the prints; it's why I haven't bought prints from my friends on this site because, well, it would be kind of weird. But hey, a girl's gotta raise money how she can, right?
I can't live without the idea that if I don't like how things are here and now, I can always reach for something better. I don't like set-in-stone routine, it's like death to me. That's what freaks me out about settling down to the nine-to-five.