for the BIRDS

Fabulous Celebrity SpokesCreature Bobby deNiro

We were sitting outside with the bird, last night, when I suddenly realized — the birds!

We’ve had loads of birds. A few wild parrots, some pigeons, more doves than anything else. Apparently, there’s a “law” which decrees an injured bird must be killed. No exceptions. So we never take them to the wildlife “rescues.”

Usually, they fall from the skies [and there's a lot of that going around, these days]. This little guy got creamed in the parking lot of our local Publix. Bro was walking back to our car when he saw another vehicle back out of a parking space, and feathers flew. The bird had been hit on his left side, which was bloody and bald when Bro reached him. His leg and wing seemed broken, but he was alive, so Bro picked him up and brought him back to the house. We put him in a box with shredded paper, and hoped for the best. At least he wouldn’t die, slowly, in a parking lot. But we did expect that he would die…

Bro is insane [and I can say this without hesitation, because he doesn't read this (or any other) blog]. As is his wont, on day three, he gave the bird a bath in the kitchen sink. Strangely, the bird didn’t seem to mind, at all, though he had a rapt audience [of cats]. Afterward, he appeared happier…but he still had not eaten since his arrival, and couldn’t stand.

A few days later, he managed to sit up [though leaned heavily to his right], so we put him in a cage with piles of shredded newspaper, which seemed to help him strike a balance. He began eating. And eating. And eating. And defecating. And defecating. And defecating. Which meant daily showers in the kitchen sink. Because Bro is the consummate obsessive-compulsive anal-retentive…

Slowly, the feathers on his left wing and leg began returning. A few weeks later, he began putting more weight on the “broken” leg, but we still worried he’d never fly, again. He seemed unable to move his left wing, at all, and we wished, once again, that we had the room [and the funds] to build a large aviary. We love birds. But they can be very high-maintenance. And, for obvious reaons, they can’t be kept with the cats.

Once we’d begun seeing signs of improvement, we started moving the cage outside, during the days, bringing him in, every night, at dusk [when the temperature began falling]. Soon, he could walk, so. Every day, Bro let him limp around the carport as he cleaned the cage. Still didn’t think he’d fly, ever again, and we began worrying we’d have him, permanently. Which would be fine — if we had an aviary. At the moment, his cage goes into the pantry, at night. A royal pain, spacewise…

Miracle of miracles, yesterday, as Bro was cleaning the cage and the bird was free to wander the carport. Suddenly, he took flight! He was perched on the roof when Bro called me outside. Uh-oh. We were thrilled, but — we knew he was not yet strong enough to survive on his own. Had we “saved” him to be killed by other birds? We’ve noticed they tend to attack [mercilessly] the “unhealthy,” among them. Was he going to be Thanksgiving dinner for neighborhood cats?

He must’ve been reading our minds, because — as visions of his demise danced in our heads — he suddenly flew back down and into the cage!

We’re guessing…and praying…that he will want to return to the wild, one day. When he’s stronger, and able to fend for himself. ‘Til then, we’re thankful for his recovery, and his sense of humor. He’s got a great little personality, which is blooming before our very eyes. Much like the cats, he’s a tough guy. Until he wants something from us. At which point, he plays helpless. He thinks Bro’s his shower caddy, now. I’ll get video, one of these days.

To make a short story long, I guess my point would be — HAPPY THANKSGIVING, everyone!

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