A bird in the hand…

A family of sparrows decided to make their home on top of our nice, toasty dryer vent. It’s quite amazing how they managed to build an intricate home given the uneven sloping of the vent. They persisted day after day, as mountains of their refuse (okay, a euphemism for bird crap) lay in our backyard. Big D suggested that it may be wise to move the nest, as it was looking not in the least bit sturdy and one of these days it was just going to collapse. I didn’t want to intervene with nature. They were working so darn hard and who was I to clue them in on the fact that danger was imminent. Well, Big D was right, something did in fact happen. Yesterday one of the little baby birds fell out of the nest. I noticed it as I was leaving with the boys. The bird was still breathing, but just lay there looking so despondent. I quickly put it into a Tupperware (I couldn’t find a shoebox) because that seemed like a sensible thing to do. I then took the boys to the park but I couldn’t help but think of that little bird. I didn’t know what the next step would be. When we got home, the bird was still there. I wanted to feed it, but Big D was right: unless I could eat a worm and regurgitate it, I wasn’t going to do much good for this little guy. I called Petco thinking that a pet store might be of some help…not so much. I called ASPCA but they were closed. I was running out of ideas and fast. I needed to help, I wanted to help, I had to help. My maternal instinct was kicking into overdrive. I made Big D borrow a ladder from our neighbor, Paul, and he put on gloves and put the bird back in the nest (Okay, this isn’t completely true. His first attempt resulted in the Momma bird trying to swat his hand away, so Big D actually dropped the bird…but no harm was done. The bird was okay). Was this the right thing to do? I’m not really sure. I wish they could give me a sign that all has ended peacefully but alas, there is no wrap up segment in this reality show called “life.”