Jennifer and I had a go at parakeet rescue last week, during the heat wave, when I managed to spill her entire Starbucks drink onto the drive way, and saying a few choice words, marched back into the house to get a paper towel to clean it up.
When I came out, a parakeet was in the middle of it, helping himself and didn't seem to have any intention of flying away.
I finally caught the bird, who was happily snacking away on our lilac tree, when it first went limp (oh gawd, I killed it) and them promptly bit me. Dammit.
It flew away into the nearby pine trees, and finally flew down, only to have the neighborhood cat swallow it whole (or try). Jennifer rushed over and told fat millie to "drop it" which, surprisingly, she did.
The slime-covered bird looked dead, but when Jennifer handed it over to Gary, it promptly bit him. Back up into the pine trees it went.
Eventually we found the owners, who came to look. No bird. But finally Jennifer spotted it again, sleeping on the ground (not wise for a cat-heavy neighborhood like ours). She picked it up with the towel (which it constantly tried to chew through) and gave it back to the Latino family down the street.
The young man took it, it tried to bite him. But he couldn't chew through the callouses. Back into the cage he went.
Next time we try to rescue a bird, Jennifer lectured, suck it up and keep a hold of it.
No comments:
Post a Comment