Empty Nests and Cheap Talk

"Worms" - our new baby bird

My American Dream is going to put me into an early grave. The advent of the long-absent sun has sent every plant, weed, tree, and grass growing rapid-fire, and almost overnight I find myself doing battle with a jungle of vegetation; I am under-armed and overwhelmed. I go home from my 7 to 3:30 each day and start in on my 4 to 10. Passed out stone cold by 11, up again at 5… spin, lather, rinse, repeat; until infintum or death – whichever comes first. Ah but this is the life, and in those sparse moments of rest, total relaxation is possible out here in the country.

“Worms”

Right now we are nursing a baby bird. The little guy fell out, or was pushed out, of a tree. I tried to give him to a wildlife refuge, but they won’t take fallen birds anymore – “let nature take its course” is basically what the guy told me. But it’s too late for that now – little “Worms” and I have bonded – there is no way I’m going to toss him back out to the fend with the cats and the snakes, to face certain death. So I’ve got the little guy in a box here with me and I feed him soggy puppy chow every fifteen or twenty minutes. He lets me know with a few chirps, then I give him a few blobs of food, then he goes to sleep for a little while. I kind of like having him around. I have this fantasy that when he is grown, he will perch on my shoulder like a sailor’s parrot. I’ll be happy though if I can get him to adulthood and he flies off to live on his own.

Honestly Worms is lucky to be alive – not just because he fell or was ejected from his nest, but also because I am a fairly incompetent baby-bird caretaker. My learning curve has been steep and fast. I came damn close to killing Worms on Tuesday – I found him Monday afternoon in our driveway, just after getting home from work. I don’t know what baby birds eat and I fed him earthworms – that’s a no-no. By Tuesday afternoon he was looking really bad, his chirps were muted, and his energy was waning. I was beside myself; sure he was going to die on my watch. But Trish came to the rescue with the puppy chow tip – gleaned from a co-worker, and within a couple of hours on the new diet Worms was on his way to recovery. Things could still go askew, but I’m optimistic.

Your Days are Numbered

All of our days are numbered. We could count them, more or less, if we wanted to – they are not infinite. So figure out what you want to do with those days you have left and then go out and do it. What are you waiting for? If you need direction, here it is. Get off your butt, stop talking your talk, and go walk your walk. Make your way in this world and let me know how it goes.

madbob@madbob.com