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May 20, 2005

I Am a Baby Mama

The other evening Rob and I went out to the patio to grill some Italian sausages (insert tired lame joke here). As we walked out I heard a bird flapping its wings loudly as it took off. I then heard something I've never heard before come from Rob. In the most delicate of voices he said, "Ohhhhhh, it's a little baby bird. Must have fallen from its nest." It wasn't what he said, it was how he said it. I knew I had heard that voice before but couldn't immediately place it. Then it hit me. It was Michael frickin' Jackson. Rob had somehow channeled him. I was frightened. I was waiting for him to say, "Sharing your bed with a little baby bird is the most wonderful thing you can do" or even "You mean you don't like to climb trees?" Luckily, he went back to his normal voice once we assessed the situation.

A baby bird had somehow fallen into our patio. Our patio is the perfect place for any injured bird to land. Please do not let this get around. The walls are high enough to offer protection but it is also open so other birds can come play/talk/console it. We had heard the weather was really windy last weekend so we assume that's when it happened.

As Rob and I walked out, the mother bird was trying to feed the baby. We scared her away. The baby began flapping about trying to fly. It could only get up about a foot high and then fall back down. It made it up onto our flower bed and took refuge under one of Rob's hosta plants.

We were concerned the mother would not come back so we sat there and waited. She finally did come back with some food in her mouth but she could not find the baby. Rob and I are watching this whole drama unfold through the sliding glass door as if we were watching a horror flick at a ghetto movie theater. We were yelling at the screen, "She's over there under the plant! Go get her!! What are you, stupid???? She's right there. Dumb bitch!!!" After about 5 minutes of looking around the mother flew away.

We would check back every few minutes to see if the mom had returned. No such luck. Rob (channeling a slightly more masculine MJ) said, "Oh, no. What if the mother doesn't return?" I told him I was sure the mother would return and to take an Ativan.

It was getting dark. Rob took out some ham and crackers and a little blanket for the poor thing. He did some research online and discovered the bird is a starling. We have since named it Clarice.

The next morning we found Clarice nowhere near the blanket and Rob had realized that he had, instead, fed a whole army of ants. Great.

To our amazement, the mom returned. We watched her feed her chick on a number of visits. It appeared she was trying to get the baby to fly. The baby was obviously injured from its earlier plummet into our world so it couldn't keep up.

Yesterday morning, the mom made its last visit. She made some squawking noises and took off, leaving the poor baby all alone. What a bitch.

I hate birds. They are filthy and disgusting and I have no use for them unless they are on my dinner plate. I got suckered into its pathetic life and now feel bad for it. I was watching it move around the patio and it kept looking up, sometimes chirping. You knew it was looking for its mom saying something like, "I can change mom. Please come back. I promise I'll be better. Praise Jesus."

Clarice seemed more and more weak as the day progressed. I was eating lunch staring at it just sitting there. I felt a calling. It looked hungry. I had to try and help. I took a little piece of chicken (oh, the irony) and went to it.

Clarice did not move away from me. She knew I was its only savior. I held the piece of chicken over its beak, waving it back and forth. Suddenly, its beak opened. It scared the hell out of me. It looked/seemed very vaginalistic. I don't know what that means either but it seemed that way. I dropped the food towards its sharp bird mouth. I missed. Damn. I tried again. Missed. Shit, I'm not good at this. The bird kept its beak open while I was fumbling around. I could tell the bird was thinking, "Dude, this really isn't that difficult. Just stick the fucking piece of chicken in my mouth and be done with it." That made it worse. My hands started to shake. I was embarrassed. Finally, success. It swallowed the whole thing.

I realized that it also needed hydration so I soaked some dog food (which was left over from a previous "Save the Animal" experience) in water and began feeding it. Clarice now loves the Alpo.

As soon as we open the patio door now, Clarice runs over to us. I am now a baby mama. The bird has imprinted that it is one of us and I am its mommy. It even lets us pet it. It comes when we call it. This is all very odd to me.

I want it to learn how to fly and move out of our place. I don't need this responsibility. Barbecues will never be the same if we have our own feathered Kato Kaelin joining us each time. We read that starlings can live to be 20. That won't be happening here.

Update: Clarice passes on.

View pics of Clarice here.
View Baby Mama lyrics here.

Posted by durban bud at May 20, 2005 08:26 AM

Comments

Posted by: TOS at May 20, 2005 04:16 PM

Posted by: Chris. at May 20, 2005 05:03 PM

Posted by: TOS at May 27, 2005 09:42 AM