The first sign of the house sparrows nesting on top of our roof was the little blue eggs smashed on the deck. We realized that they had rolled down the roof, vaulted off of the gutter guard like an old school homemade skateboard ramp and ended up pulverized smack dab in front of the sliding glass door. Perfectly positioned for us to step on.
The second sign was a baby bird that made the same perillous journey with the same results. It made it out of the egg just in time to get pushed out of the nest and take it's one and only swan dive to earth. It was Noah's first animal funeral. We introduced the idea of "bird heaven." I don't know what he thinks of that idea, but since I don't even know if I believe religion anymore, we'll save that for another post.
The horny little birds got another batch of babies hatched last week. Proof positive: the baby bird on our deck. This time it was alive. I called the Wildlife Rescue Center in St. Paul and they told me to bring it on in. I put in in a shoe box lined with napkins and placed the box under our plant light so it would stay warm. Stan and Jesse saw it before I left. Stan, ever the optomist, said, "They'll probably just flush it." But low and behold, they put the little chirping ball of skin in a tiny nest in an incubator. In 2-3 weeks they'll let us know if it made it, and they even hold release parties so people can see the animals they saved scurry back into nature.
I don't know if we'll go so far as to attend Jr.'s release party, but it is nice to be able to change the subject to bird #2 when Noah asks, yet again, if we can dig up the bird to make sure it's dead and not just sleeping.
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