Well there's a wounded bird hopping about in my garden and it won't let me save him.
Yesterday my Mum was on the phone answering some questions for a pointless survey and a bird FLEW INTO THE WINDOW...
Thump.
Mum: Oh my god!
Survey man [at the other end of the phone]: Are you alright there?
Mum: Yeah, sorry, a bird just flew into my window.
The survey continues whilst Mum looks anxiously out of the window to see if there's a wounded bird around but he's nowhere to be seen.
Evening comes and Smokey stalks out into the garden to do a wee or a poo [I never asked her which of the two it was] and she sees this little brown bird [maybe a sparrow?] hopping around in the rockery, her toilet domain. Me, Mum and Dad are crowded at the window. Even at the elderly age of eighteen Smokey's predatorial instincts kick in and she starts running after it. The wounded sparrow hops down the garden towards our back door away from Smokes. Mum's shouting 'DONT EAT IT SMOKES' and I have had enough. I'm not going to stand by and watch an innocent wounded BIRD get cornered by a elderly majestic cat that ought to know better. So I go out with some bread and throw a few crumbs at the bird. In my head I'm hoping that he will follow the trail of crumbs and hop into my hand and then I'll nurse him back to health by giving him warm milk and building him a snuggly nest of blankets. In reality he backs right into a corner and completely freezes. He's petrified of me, even though I'm kneeling down and talking in a soft bird-like manner. I throw a few crumbs but they're a bit big and intimidating and I think he probably thinks I'm trying to choke him. In his wounded state everyone and everything must look like the enemy. He's blatantly delirious. And in the background there's this little black bird, with a yellow beak [the contrast looks swanky] twittering at me on the fence. I think it's the sparrow's lover, even though they're different breeds [multi-cultural breeding!] and I think he's telling me off for trying to choke his lover [They are both male in this tale. It seems like I'm not a homophone after all! ;D]. There is a slight possibility that Yellowbeak may also be giving me a stern telling off for wearing my Mum's crocs out into the garden [Judge me all you like but it was an emergency and they're my Mum's gardening shoes so they're always near the back door. A sparrow's life was at stake. There was no time to think about that I was basically wearing vomit for shoes. That was a sacrifice I was prepared to make] So the sparrow's going nowhere, the bread's going stale in my hand and Yellowbeak is getting a little too shrill for my liking so I give up and go inside.
Later later on, I'm watching Big Brother [yet more cool points] and the sparrow's hopping around in the rockery again, trying to find some leafy shelter because it's started to rain. Yellowbeak returns with something IN ITS BEAK for his lover. He sits on the fence looking down at his wounded beaut and I think he's waiting for him to fly up to him...BUT HE CAN'T BEAKY. Don't you know that already, you fool! Basically I think this is Yellowbeak's way of admitting that he thinks his lover is a hyperchondriac. Psh. Bastard. Sparrow doesn't move, just looks lovingly up to Yellowbeak and Yellowbeak flits down to his level and looks at him inquiringly. AND THEN [this is my favourite part] Sparrow flaps his wings at him. He is showing his lover that he can't fly. They are communicating using boday language right in front of my eyes! I feel like David Attenborough in jammies. And do you know how Yellowbeak reacts? He doesn't lovingly snuggle into his neck and tweet, 'It's going to be ok my love', he doesn't even take his little sparrow UNDER HIS WING [which seems like the obvious move to make] He actually FLIES AWAY, and leaves his poor poor sparrow to take refuge from the rain in a lavender bush.
I slept uneasy last night.
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