We had a little visitor this weekend in our house. Uninvited.
Unless you call a half-opened door an invitation.
It was a sparrow (a song sparrow, I think), which in the realm of possibilities around here for what wild critter could be traipsing into your home was pretty benign.
Naturally, I freaked out, screamed, ran in circles, and then called the hubs in. He brought a fishing net to get the bird, but ended up just using his hands to gently carry out the little guy.
Look at him with his beak open. He might have been in shock. He sat on the hubs’ hand with his mouth wide open for a minute or so. Just like the Kid would if the hubs held a My Little Pony gummy above her head.
He flew off and we haven’t heard from him since. He doesn’t call. He doesn’t write.
Caregiving is such an unappreciated job.
Maybe that was his poop on the deck railing.
