Yesterday was a gardenlicious (this word should be added to the dictionary) kind of day. And even though I was swamped with other responsibilities that had piled up (that’s what happens when you put off taking care of some things you should be taking care of because you believe the world is going to end and you figure there’s no point in doing them...and then the world doesn’t end...sigh...), I did manage to get outside and get some work done in the garden.
And somewhere along my gardenlicious journey, I ran across this little fluffy ball of feathers:
Isn’t he (or she) the cutest little thing?
Well, needless to say that his presence stressed me as much as it pleased me because he could barely hop, never mind fly, and this made him an easy target for the cats that roam the neighbourhood (and there are plenty of them), particularly the nasty, rotten, miserable cat that lives right next door. You know which one I’m talking about. Yeah, that one. The one that murdered Mr. Inski last year. Ugh.
As silly as it may sound to some of you, I was filled with anxiety over this little fluffy ball of feathers. So tiny. So young. So innocent. So helpless. And on top of everything else, he wouldn’t keep quiet. He chirped and chirped and chirped and chirped, which increased his vulnerability.
“Here I am...chirp...chirp…chirp... Even if you can’t see me...chirp...chirp...chirp, you can hear me...chirp, chirp...chirp...”
Eeek... What to do... What to do...
I couldn’t just leave him there, so I followed him around while I tried to figure out how to make him a little safer. For one thing, I hated the fact that he was on the ground. If only I could get him to move up higher, like on a tree limb or something... But when I chased behind him, hoping he’d fly away, he wouldn’t. He just wobbled along.
That’s when the light bulb went on over my head. The big light bulb. The mega sized one. You probably experienced a temporary power shortage when this happened.
I figured I’d trap him in something, carry him over to one of my flower beds and place him between some shrubs where he’d be hidden. So I scurried over to the garden shed, grabbed one of the bird houses that we have stored in there (the ones we keep saying we’ll prepare and put up each spring and never do), and scurried back to the little fluffy ball of feathers. I opened up the bird house and placed it on top of the baby robin, but when I tried to scoop him up, he managed to hop out. After several attempts, I finally managed to trap him.
Okay, so at this point, I should have moved him to safety, but I got a little selfish and decided to snap a few photos while he was in there. (I mean, how can I not when he’s so darn cute?) I placed the bird house on the ground, made a small opening and started snapping photos. He didn’t attempt to leave, so I made a bigger opening and snapped some more. He just stared at me, curiously.
That’s when it happened...
The little stinker hopped out of the birdhouse and onto my finger! Snap, snap, snap went my camera. I couldn’t miss such an opportunity. Snap, snap, snap.
OHMYGOD! A baby robin is sitting on my finger. Snap, snap, snap.
And if that wasn’t enough, he then hopped onto my head and started chirping away happily. By this time I was in hysterics, I was laughing so hard. I kept looking back at my house hoping my husband - who works from home and every now and then steps outside for a break - would come out to see this super cute baby robin moment. Perhaps even take a photo or two. But he never did. Darn. I finally gave up hope that hubby would show up, placed my hand on my head, baby robin jumped on it and I carried him over to the maple tree and placed him on a branch. One of the robin parents showed up after a couple of minutes to feed this super adorable little fluffy ball of feathers. And all was well with the world.
[Sigh of contentment.]
And that was the end of that. Or was it?
Later in the evening, I stepped out into the garden to freshen up the water in the bird baths. Baby robin was nowhere to be found, so I thought (and hoped) that he was somewhere safe. All of a sudden, I heard the familiar juvenile chirping from behind me. Baby robin was back! He had flown onto one of the cushions on the swing (I guess those teeny wings work, after all), and was singing his little heart out. Wondering if he’d remember me, I walked over to the swing and sat down two seats away from him. He never even flinched. So – you guessed it! – I got up, walked closer and pushed my finger up against him. And yupperooni, he hopped onto it without batting an eye. Looks like I made a friend...
The story ends with me carrying little fluffy ball of feathers over to a tree limb, and wishing him good night. What a glorious day to be alive...