Is better than two in the bush. I never understood that saying. It makes absolutely no sense to me whatsoever. But it was the first thing that came to mind when this happened tonight.
Glenn had just gotten home from work and we were in the living room just discussing our plans for the weekend. I was just revving up for a fight because he had once again put off our riding plans to go fishing on Saturday. But then we heard the screeching out on the porch and I made him go out and save whatever poor critter had been caught by a cat.
The victim tonight was one of my favorite little birds that has a nest in one of the bird houses by the garden. I know, they all look the same, how do I know it's one of the ones from the bird house? Cause it's my story and I said so. :)
The poor little guy was terrified. Glenn could roll him over and pull out his wings and legs to check for injuries, but the bird just didn't care. In his little birdie mind we were big giant predators and he was resigned to being eaten. The question was, what do we do with him? I've tried saving injured birds in the past and it just hasn't worked out. And where would we put him outside where the cats wouldn't find him again? The cats manage to get on the roof of our house, so no place is really safe. In the end I made him a little cubby hole in the compost that I hadn't finished unloading from the truck earlier and left him there. Hopefully he'll come to his senses and fly away before he's discovered by the beasts.
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