Free Bird

When I was in elementary school my family found a little Baltimore oriole in our yard that had been kicked out of the nest. The tree was too high to place the baby back in and the mother didn’t seem to want to care for it so we took the little bird in.

It’s hard to remember what we fed it at first. I think it was some kind of pablum. We fed the bird until it was old enough to eat regular bird seed. The bird became our pet and it lived in our basement perching on a wooden dowel laundry rack with newspaper under it.

The bird began to get stronger and friendlier. Eventually it would hop up the basement steps to greet us whenever we went downstairs, which was often. The little bird loved attention and hopped around the basement following us around. Before you think this was a dank, dark basement it wasn't. We had a big basement finished in concrete block with lights and windows and a door that went to the backyard. 

The bird was so sweet but we were never able to release it back into the wild. One day my mom was taking the laundry downstairs to go out the back door and hang it on the clothesline in our backyard. With the big round laundry basket held in front of her, my Mom did not see the little bird hop up to greet her and she stepped on it and broke its neck.

When I got home from school that day my Mom pulled me aside and told me what had happened. I cried and cried. She felt bad about it, too. Poor little bird rejected by its mother, killed by my mother. RIP.

Welcome to My Reality

I have always loved animals. As a child I used cry whenever I watched an episode of "Lassie". It was a mixture of the music and Lassie's soulful eyes that made me cry. The combination plucked at my heart strings like a professional cellist. One summer my dad ran over a rabbit's nest with the lawnmower killing the mother and all but one baby. The baby was so small it had no fur yet only skin, like a tiny hippo we wrapped in a washcloth. Family members took turns trying to feed the baby with an eyedropper but the milk kept coming out of its nose. Eventually it died and I cried for so many days that my dad tried to explain the circle of life to me, ever the comforter in times of sadness, providing an understanding shoulder to cry on, "Stop being so emotional. Everything dies." Thanks, Dad.

The problem is I never outgrew my love for animals and now I have a house full of cats and dogs that other people discarded like used tissues. I would take in more if I had more space and money. This blog is dedicated to my unapologetic love for animals. I don't eat them, I don't wear them and I help provide for them as much as possible. I know it might be hard to believe, but yes, I'm single too! Call me what you will - crazy cat lady, creepy dog lady, wacko single lady. It's okay. All my children are furry and I'm cool with it.

I still love you, Lassie even after I found out you were played by a male collie. Oh reality, you are such a cruel mistress.