|Merlin and Arthur.
||[Nov. 5th, 2006|11:55 pm]
Irised J. Pig
So I woke up this morning, or rather stopped doggedly trying to go back to sleep, when my mother came into my room. With a solomn and mysterious sort of air about her she stood over my bed, hands cupped in front of her chest.
How odd, I thought. I mumbled something incoherent but vaugely question-like at her. She refused to answer. Something else happened that I can't remember because I was half asleep, and then somehow I was out of bed and looking at her hands.
Lo and behold!
They had a baby bird in them.
She found him on the ground in the barn, apparently. She was so madly enthusiastic about the whole rescuing him thing that I almost wished she was being all "let nature take it's course" like she'd been (at least outwardly, she's a bigger softy than me with animals) with my earlier babies. Christ woman, your enthusiasm is sweet and I love that you're happy about this, but I've done this before! I have a rough idea what to do! But after much gentle squabbling over details, the baby was installed in his box. Feeding started. After a mildly worrying delay, crapping started too, with slightly startling enthusiasm.
I decided that dog food with rice in it wasn't good for an insectivore past the immediate first need to get any nutrition into the little body. So I goinked one of the massive frozen lumps of chicken mince out of our freezer. In a little drama that involved three knives, sticky layers of defrosted flesh residue, sprays of frozen flesh crumble and lots of stabbing and sawing, I managed to detach some for baby food. A bit of microwaving and some added egg and I was set. Excellent! It turned out in consultation with a proper bird lady that this choice for food was exactly right, too, which was very nice. I felt terribly expert.
Anyway, things were set. I even managed to persuade mother that 'Guy' wasn't a good name for the little tweet.
And then in the middle of trotting through the stable, I looked down - and a little yellow mouth stared back up at me. Well, beady little eyes stared at me, but it was rather hard to see them past the mouth. So there I was, walking back to the house with another starling nestling in my hands letting me know in no uncertain terms that it wanted some bloody food, and NOW.
Hey, what's two babies when I was looking after one anyway? I'm quite glad there's a pair actually, it's far better for the babies to grow up with some company of their own kind than alone. The newer one is smaller and younger, but not by too much.
Of course another baby meant more food - almost immediately, seeing as he half swallowed the tweezers in his effort to ingest anything that came near his beak. So we had another frozen meat sawing episode, this one slightly more disturbing with mum hacking away at the stuff with a big garden saw and randomly telling us about this movie she saw where a man cut his own penis off with an electric bread knife.
Arthur and Merlin are now snuggled up together in their little polar-fleece lined nest, and heaven knows I wish I was getting as much sleep as them.