Because yesterday was crazy hot, I decided to put our baby gates to use and latch ‘em on to both the front and back doors. I love being able to hear the traffic and when I have to be in doing laundry and vacuuming, etc, it helps to have the air from outside flowing through the house.
What I wasn’t expecting was to have a barn swallow fly through the front door. I heard the rustling of its wings before I spotted it frantically flapping around just below the ceiling. You might have thought I had just seen a giant rat. I may have screamed, I’m not sure. But I did run.
Squid was genuinely interested and not frightened at all. I, however, was ducking with my hands above my head, scared to even look at it! I immediately called Jason, the patron of all animals. As I dialed, the bird darted into the kitchen, then down the hall. “Calm down, open all the windows and it’ll find its way out,” Jason advised. “And don’t let Cookie get to it!”
The words were still lingering in my ear when I saw my little devil of a cat prance down the hallway with blue-brown feathers in her whiskers. The bird lay on the ground in front of her, wings outstretched, stumbling to get back up. “Oh, shit! Too late,” I told Jason as I shooed Cookie away.
The bird was hurt. A tiny blood spot marked the carpet. “Take it in a box and set it outside,” Jason instructed. I found an old Gap gift box, put the phone down and attempted to scoop up the injured bird. But just as I was about to set the bottom of the box over it, it scampered away and quickly skirted under the bookshelf. “Great.”
“Just leave it. You can’t get to it now. Hopefully it won’t die and I’ll deal with it when I get home,” Jason assured me.
I continued on with my cleaning, keeping a close eye on the bookshelf, hoping to God I didn’t find the bird dragging itself back out. A few hours later, when Jason arrived home, the bird was gone. “But I watched it. I made sure!” I insisted.
“Well, it’s not here,” Jason shrugged.
“You have to find it! Or, someday down the road, they’ll be a rotting bird carcass waiting for us when we reach for a pair of socks. Or, even worse, the baby will find it!” Long story short (or shorter), we finally did locate the bird and set it outside. By this morning, the bird was gone again and we figured it had flown away. Wrong.
As Jason was getting into his car to head off for work, our neighbor from across the street came over dressed in a bathrobe. The bird had found its way over to her yard and was squeaking pathetically from under a bush. Of course, our neighbor had no idea of the ordeal that occurred in our house yesterday, but must have known Jason would fix whatever problem she had, regardless.
And he did. The mighty helper of all things under the sun (no sarcasm here ;) carefully retrieved the bird, called the Wildlife Rehabilitation Center in San Rafael, emailed his boss to tell him he would be coming in late, and headed off to the “hospital.”
Phew. All this from me wanting a little fresh air! Well, the latest update is that the swallow will be fine. AND, we get to set him free once he’s rehabilitated! Poor little thing. Today I have the doors open again and I’m really just hoping for the best. I mean, what are the odds that another bird will come shooting through the house?
