It is ALIVE!!!

I have Cockatiels. I didn't really want Cockatiels but a friend had a pair that had been abused and the birds needed a "temporary" home. That was almost three years ago. Brighton and Elliott will never be friendly birds. They have no reason to trust me, but they have shared their passions and now I have FOUR of their progeny--all raised by me. Brighton and Elliott are good at producing lovely little fertile eggs but are lousy parents.

They sit for a week or so and then start kicking those little eggs around. I've learned how to be a passible bird mama. The kids at school have watched the babies grow from tiny featherless monsters into little birds. I really need to stop saving every egg Elliott drops.

BUT--a week ago I was on the back porch--a collect-all for cages, tools and bins. Brighton and Elliott were enjoying some fly time on a warm fall afternoon. Apparently the squirrels, who like scamming nuts at the back door, had invaded their cage and Elliott dropped another egg right where she stood yelling at the squirrels to bugger off. When I picked up the little egg it was still warm--a tiny pinkish package that lay in the palm of my hand waiting for me to decide weather or not I'd chuck it into the garden out back. I took it in and dug out the incubator. I was pretty sure I knew someone who would really like to have a little bird--providing it survived. The sweet bird they adored was injured in a freak accident and they knew a bird wouldn't be happy unable to walk or fly. "Millett" went to her last sleep very much loved.

So tonight I candled that little egg and there's somebody home--a tiny speck dancing in front of the bright light that invaded it's shell. In two weeks it will hatch--a bizarre looking bit of fluff that wants to eat every two hours from dawn to dusk. The kids at school will watch a miracle and when that little bird is old enough, it will go to a loving family for the twenty or so years of it's natural life span.

I never stop being amazed at the life that pulses in an egg. You can feel it in your hand. That dancing speck will peep when it's ready to hatch. Even now it's just so ALIVE! 

Little Man

He was never supposed to be tame. He was supposed to be one of many release squirrels given a chance at life. I'm honored he chose to be my friend.

Little Man came to me a year ago--a lost baby found by a compassionate family. He was maybe eight or nine weeks old--looked like a mini squirrel--but too young to survive a winter on his own without mama. Little Man wasn't particularly friendly--no reason for him to be, but he wasn't mean either. He had a three level cage--big enough to pass a winter in--and a friend right next door in another big cage. He was a nice boy--a little bitey if you got too close to his nest cube--but not mean. He was fine with invasion of his territory to leave veggies or rodent blocks--and he would very gladly take a nut if offered. He permitted his cage to be cleaned as long as his nest wasn't invaded. I expected for him to high-tail it out the door when spring finally showed up. In early March he was moved to the big cage (gotta get those muscles in shape to climb trees) and in early April he got the run of the room and the portal to the great outdoors opened. The two girls who passed the winter with him left nothing but dust moats hanging in the air as they streaked out the portal. Little Man stayed. 

As April warmed up and May put buds and flowers on trees and bushes, Little Man preferred lounging on top of the big cage to hanging out in the trees out back. It was looking like he wasn't planning on moving but eventually the warm breezes blowing through the window lured him out onto the bridge to the back porch railing and he was free. Time passed and by the time summer hit he was out and about--but after a few weeks I'd have a feeling I wasn't alone in that room at night and sure-nuff--Little Man was in his nest cube with his stuffed animal and his fleece blankees in air conditioned comfort. 

A blistering summer finally cooled to a warm fall and Little Man came home with what looked like a bad cut. It was a Bot warble right under his arm and he chewed at it until it bled. If he had killed it, it would have killed him. Damn things don't rot nice. The vets at Lakeside got rid of that nasty--and several more I hadn't even noticed and the poor boy came home with stitches all over and was captive for two weeks--caged until those stitches could come out. 

Little Man is free again and since I opened the door to the capture cage I transported him to the vets in, he's been outside. He's come in for a snack and to check out his nest cube, but is sleeping outside these days. Since he started sleeping in, I've given him goodnight lovies and skritches and he'd roll over so I could get to his tummy or lift his little arms so a favored spot would get attention. He's happy to have his face rubbed by about everybody. 

I don't know if his release after surgery will be permanent or if he'll come back to sleep after he's played out for awhile. I kinda hope so. I see him out with his friend or begging for a nut at the back door and I'm happy he's free, but at night I miss putting my hand in his cube and being greeted by a little sleepy face wanting to be loved on. I'm honored he chose to be my friend and it's up to him where he lives. Just be careful Little Man. Watch out for hawks. Stay out of the street. Don't go near dogs or cats. And remember that you're always welcome to come in for a sleep over.