(no subject)
When I was 10 I came upon a bird that had fallen out of a nest. The shells were near by- a light blue- the definitive colour of the robin's egg. My parents told me to leave the hatchling for if I touched it the parents would be able to smell me and wouldn't accept it back. I knew from my many bird books I had bought at the farmer's market (so many things to laugh at in that sentence) that birds had very poor olfactory abilities and this was highly unlikely. I also knew there were several neighbourhood cats that would make short work of the defenseless bird. So I was to become a surrogate parent- in secret. To this day no one in my family knows that I raised a robin in the garage for almost 3 weeks- but then I've always been good at hiding things. I mashed up the worms and arranged the heating pad and was quite proud of myself. Then the robin grew up- it started to attempt to fly- making clumsy attempts around the garage. I knew it had to be let go. It could not live caged for my amusement. So one day I took it to the field across the road and released it from the strawberry basket from Springridge farm I'd outfitted with a netting on top to keep it from a premature escape. It tried to fly away and did pretty good for a first attempt. She (I was fairly certain it was female- it's not as easy as you think the male's genital's retract, I was ten cut me some slack) flew about 15-20 meters. I swear she looked back after landing, although in retrospect it was more likely than not the fantasy of a child. That experience is without a doubt one of the most fulfilling in my life. And in the end does it even matter that I'm the one who pushed it out of its nest in the first place?