It was around 6:00 Thursday evening and 99 degrees in the shade. I was sitting out at the barn with my camera,
hoping I could capture something exciting for Friday's blog post without having to leave the comfort of my chair and break a sweat.
It wasn't happening. For an hour, I watched Lucy and the boys eat as half-hearted storm clouds formed in the east,
but then the wind kicked up and I didn't want the dirt to wreck the camera, so I headed back toward the house.
I opened the gate into the back yard and saw that Smooch had something cornered behind her chair.
Swell, I thought. I'm about to die from heat stroke and now I've got to deal with a snake or something.
Turned out it was just an itty bitty swallow who had left his nest before earning his pilot's license.
I sent Smooch into the house while I figured out a plan.
What am I going to do with you, Little One?
Hold on tight while I climb on this chair and try to put you back in the nest
while attempting to take pictures so I'll have a blog post for tomorrow.
So far so good.
But just as I ever so gently placed Little One into the nest...
He half jumped, half flew down to the ground.
Me: You knucklehead!
Little One: Those weren't my peeps. Wrong nest.
To add insult to injury, it had started to rain - one of those infamous New Mexico quarter-inch rains,
where a drop of rain falls every quarter inch and you say is that it?
Still, the potential was there for a downpour and Little One wouldn't stand a chance in a storm.
Me: Come on, Little One, let's see if we can figure out where you belong.
Not wanting to traumatize Little One any more than I had to, I scooped him up and placed him in a tray
along with an interim nest, made from a pile of Lucy's hair which had accumulated near the hitching rail.
Me: What do you think, Little One? Does that look like home?
Little One: Why, yes it does, as a matter of fact. Thanks for the lift.
Me: Glad to be of service.