Man, what a day!

It started out with me having to explain what house martins (purple martins) are to the uber-boss, because when she saw them flying around outside the building she thought they were bats! She was really convinced about it too. Thankfully, I realized that the martins had been lighting on the railings of the balcony, and I convinced her to come to the door and look.

" You see? Now watch it when it flies off -there. Thats what you saw swooping around, right?"

"It is." Another one landed on the railing. "Oh my god! They are actually purple birds! But why do they fly like that? You have to admit they look like bats."

"Well, they eat insects: pluck them right out of the air. They're members of the swallow family." I said.

"How do you know that?"

Thankfully, it's been years since I've said what always used to get me in trouble "It's common knowledge." I swear that I was 23 years old before I realized that I was not the most stupid person on earth and if I knew something, it didn't mean EVERYBODY knew it. Not long after that, it dawned on me why people sometimes took me the wrong way.

Instead I said. "Well, you can tell by their tails. See, they have split tails" she looked confused. "I'll send you a link. But there's no need to call an exterminator. In fact, martins kind of live in little bird condos. Maybe they'll be good luck." And then I made sure I did send the link so that she didn't think I was putting her on.

Finally, she left. No sooner had she gone than I noticed something auburn colored at the edge of the woods below the retaining wall. It was a good distance off. My eyesight isn't great, but it struck me that it was the wrong color for it to be a bunch of woodchucks (of which there are also plenty) Sure enough, up came two beautiful red foxes, chasing each other playfully, grooming each other and sitting down to scratch ( nobody has gotten around to flea-guarding foxes yet, poor things). They weren't really near the building, but I had a good view of them as they lay down for a brief nap.

I'd never seen one, let alone two foxes during the day before. When I came back in from the balcony where I'd gone to get a better look at them, I closed the door behind me very quietly. But nevertheless they looked right up, and looked right at me. Pretty impressive. They stayed quite still, and it took them a long time to decide there wasn't any threat. The nearby road didn't seem to bother them in the least: I guess they're used to it.

Finally, after work I went to Petco to see if they had any turtles. I was just looking. I picked up a parrot toy for Kendi and was headed to the check out just as my next adventure was coming in the door: a man with a shoe box.

You can see where this is going, right?

Naturally, inside was a little baby bird and bright yellow gardening glove. "I didn't touch it! But, look, it doesn't have any feathers on its wings! It's been attacked, and I've called every place, and nothing is open. I can't do anything for it! I don't even know what kind of bird it is."

"It's a robin." I said, as The Editor ( that's what I call the part of my brain whose job it is to keep me from saying everything that comes into my mind) came rushing back to her desk from an ill timed coffee break.

"You know about birds?" he asked, rounding on me, from the argument he was having with three employees who were explaining, not unkindly, that they couldn't take the bird in. The manager had a Pionus Parrot (and several ploppers) on his shoulder

SAY NO! The Editor yelled, but I felt unable to do that since I was standing there holding a parrot toy.

"You could feed it meal worms." The manager suggested, to the room in general.

"Or dog food." the cashier said.

"Uh-Unh. That birds not far enough along for meal worms. He needs formula. We got that."the third employee said.

"Aww-waw" The Pionus said.

"Not much" I replied to the man holding the box.

"Look, something ripped its tail feathers clean off!"

"Um, it hasn't got tail feathers yet. Its feathers are fine. They're still growing in." I said, while, in my head the editor was screaming NO! NO! NO!

"You DO know about birds!" the guy said.

"If you can keep it til tomorrow you can call the DNR -"

"I'm not driving this thing all over town!" the man protested, and made a tossing gesture with his free hand.

I couldn't stand it.

"Let me have it. I'll take it home. I think I can get it through the night, and I'll call the DNR tomorrow. I've got the day off."

The meal worms vs. formula argument broke out again as Samaritan One bolted, sans shoe box, for the door. I settled on formula, figuring that the bird was probably too traumatized to eat anything this evening, even though I think the he's more or less at the parts of meal worms stage. But what the hell do I know?

So, the baby robin, parrot toy, and feeding kit all made it back to the house, where I took Birda's nest, which we've saved all this time, out from under its glass covering. Why do I have an old robin's nest in my house? You know, since normal people don't have the kinds of problems I have, I figure normal people don't have the solutions I do either. If the poor little bird doesn't make it he'll at least be comforted in a nice round feels-like-home nest. I also put some toilet paper in there in two little balls which might hopefully feel like siblings to him and got one of The Hubs lights from downstairs to use as a heat lamp.

So far the BB is resting comfortably in the nest in the shoe box in the bathroom under strict quarantine from the rest of the household (that's all I need is some horrible bird virus all over the house) I've read the instructions for the formula, and, if all goes well, I'll hear the sound of little robin chirps in the morning.

But that's okay. It wasn't like I was planning on sleeping in. Much.