A Bird, A Crazy Lady And A Cracked Door


I've always been very afraid of animals.

I don't know why. Maybe it has something to do with being raised in the city and not having much exposure to them. Maybe it's because a neighbor's dog once bit my daughter. Maybe it's because I'm just plain weird. I don't know. Whatever the reason, I just know I'm now fifty-seven years old and I'm still afraid.

Several months ago my husband and I were returning home from our usual Friday night date. Upon opening the front door, out flew a young bird that apparently had made itself comfortable in the flower wreath that hung on my door.

I can still feel it's flapping little wings fluttering through my hair as it made its way into the foyer of our home.

Yes, I totally lost it. I'm sure my screams were heard throughout the neighborhood. Folks must have thought a murder had just been committed. But no, just me, my husband and a tiny little bird now trapped inside our home.

My hubby was frantically trying to shoo the wee little thing back out the front door. I say frantically because mean while I had run to a bedroom and was hollering at him through a crack in the door, "Is he out yet? Is he out yet?"

To my horror, I could hear the bird making it's way down our hallway, flying past the room I was holed up in, and into the back bedroom.

In my desperation, I started calling out suggestions to DH with my lips pressed tightly through the crack in the door. "Get a broom!" "See if you can coax him back to the front of the house!" "Get your fish net catcher thingy , maybe you can scoop him in and carry him out!

The dear man man that married the nut case behind the door, thirty-nine years ago, tried all the suggestions without success.

Finally, one last, brilliant idea was offered up by the crazy lady. "Try throwing a bed sheet over him, I'm sure that will work!"

Well, he did and it did. DH carried the little guy out to the front yard and released him to freedom.

The deranged woman released herself from her own self imposed captivity as well.

And they all lived happily ever after. End of story.

Not quite. When DH came back into the house he looked rather sad. He said he didn't think the bird was OK and said it was just lying on the ground still as could be.

I went to take a peek through the window. Yep, it was just lying there. I said, "Well, maybe it's just getting its bearings and will fly away in just a minute."

Now, instead of fear, all I could feel was guilt, remorse, and worry. Should we take it to the vet? Do CPR? What? I kept thinking, "move little birdie, MOVE!"

It never did.

I cannot tell you the sadness and sorrow I felt about that little bird's death. If it wasn't for my insane fear, DH probably would have let it fly around the house until it finally flew out. It was all my fault.

Poor little bird.
I'm so sorry.
Lord forgive me.