I had just served Wynonna her dinner on the front porch when something small and gray
caught my attention over in the corner.
At least it wasn't a mouse. Another swallow had fallen – or been pushed – out of her nest.
I knew I'd better put her back before Wynonna, or the chickens, or Johnny ate her for dessert.
Who knew a front porch could be such dangerous territory for a baby bird?
Me: Sorry, but I don't have any bugs to spit in your mouth.
Had I known you were coming down for dinner, I would have been more prepared.
BabyBird: No worries. I'm sure my mom will be along in a minute.
My first attempt to return BabyBird to her nest failed because I couldn't reach it.
I had to go get the step stool but I didn't want to carry BabyBird that far, so I placed her in Wynonna's feed cup
and covered her with Johnny's can of cat food. Saving baby birds is a group effort around here.
BabyBird was so small that I wasn't sure she would make it, but we had to try.
Me: Move over, you hungry beasts. Make room for your sister.
Wynonna: I hope you plan on serving me something else for dessert.
A slice of watermelon perhaps? Seedless, please.