So, I'm doing the girl thing; curling iron in hand running through the house answering text and calls lying that I am "almost ready.” I am wearing heels and not much more else because I can’t decide which tiny dress makes me look the least fat (and don’t act like you have not done this). My beer is sweating because I have not had a second to drink it. I’m cataloging things I can do I the car on the way…makeup, deodorant, jewelry, etc. and I hear Belle start screaming-yes…screaming like I had never heard her before.
I stepped into the hallway and in the kitchen I could see her jumping from the counter to the table then to the microwave-she was losing it! So I run in to grab her and she is chasing a sparrow. I am torn between pride of my little huntress and mercy for the little bird that I am positive is in no real danger as Belle prefers to merely play with her prey as opposed to actually killing it. She pins it between the table and fridge and I panic. I grab her and save the bird, shooing it out of the house.
I gave her treats and told her I was proud of her, but my heart hurt for that tiny little bird. The next day I couldn’t shake the thought of a trembling nervous stomached sparrow in my back yard too nervous to approach a feeder, so I started researching the little escapee.
To my surprise, these little “suckers,” I’ll politely call them, storm other birds nest and kill their young. They push them out like slum lords and take over-pushing out eggs and laying claim to their new greener grassed pent house. Bitches! I thought. I started to get upset, then a little angry, and now I’m FURIOUS!
I let that little ass go when Belle could have killed the bully bird on the block. I began to feel like I failed all of the birds that I feed daily in my back yard. Who am I to keep their food fresh and bath clean further encouraging them to set up shop in my West Side Story style back yard? I’m like a made mobster running things on my street. Sigh.
