For the birds

The robin expired last evening, without intervention. Mrs Quail, whom the kiddo had christened post-mortem, was laid to rest in a nice, quiet garden spot by a neighbor and myself. The kiddo can’t stop talking about it.

Then, this morning, she picked up a dead, translucent baby bird right outside the front doorstep. On my way to work, I passed by some kind of bird of prey feasting on carrion. Nice.

things I do for love

I just made, for the first time ever, bacon wrapped scallops for the kiddo. And now I want to go take a bath. Blech!

Trust is holding a nail beneath the wobbly wrist of the kiddo as she drives it into a container to make drainage holes  for her tomato plants. So she can learn something.

I’m having a small moral dilemma. I was outside today, butter knife in hand, tightening the legs of a patio table I found on the side of a road (note to Pentyne and T: don’t think I don’t hear the gasp of horror and chorus of “Roz, jr” all the way up in these parts, you two!). Anyway, the kiddo found an adult robin just kind of hanging around, hopping. It didn’t even try to fly away each time we approached. Something has to be wrong. His tail feathers look odd. I don’t know whether i should leave it alone to fly back to its babies, or take it somewhere and get it some help. My grandfather would take it, as he did with a few racoon babies. I don’t like to tamper. But it’s going to rain soon. :sigh: I know I’ll think of this before I go to bed tonight.