It was a busy day today.  It started when I forgot I had lined up the fabulous Mercedes to babysit for Lily (summer camp is closed today and tomorrow).  She sat in my driveway for an hour while I ran errands with Lily.  Ooops.  This afternoon,  I took my neighbor’s son with us to the Little Gym so he wouldn’t have to suffer through a long swim meet with the rest of his family.  We returned home around 6, and I walked the sweet boy back to my neighbor’s house while Lily and Arden played in the driveway. 

As I turned to walk back to my house, I heard gleeful shouting and two girls running straight for me. 

First glance at Lily, I saw feathers.  Then I saw bare skin.  Then I saw a beak, wide open, and possibly a beady eye. 

I saw Arden, clutching what looked to be a similar bunch of feathers, skin and beak. 

Insert me, screaming and running toward them.  In my head, a steady stream of thoughts:  “OH MY GOD THEY HAVE FOUND DEAD ROTTING BIRDS THEIR HANDS ARE WRAPPED AROUND DEAD BIRDS DISEASE AVIAN FLU WAIT I DON’T KNOW WHAT AVIAN FLU IS OH MY GOD CRUSHED BIRD GUTS WILL BE ON MY CHILDREN I AM GOING TO VOMIT THOSE POOR BIRDS BIRD FLU BEAKS aghghahhahahahahhhh….” and so on. 

Lily and Arden stopped short.  Apparently some of those words came out of my mouth at a very loud decibel.  Lily looked frightened.  Arden dropped her bird and screamed, “I TOLD YOU NOT TO TOUCH THEM, LALLY!” (she calls her Lally when she’s irked or very happy)

Suddenly the bundle of skin and feathers moved, and Lily’s started to cheep.  And the cheeping got louder.  Then I realized we were being dive-bombed by the bird parents.  Two parent birds that were super pissed their babies were being manhandled by unruly children.  I started yelling, “Give me the birds!!! Where is the nest???”  Arden’s bird was flapping around uselessly on the ground, and I was hoping the wings weren’t broken.  Lily scooped up both into her hands and ran faster than I’ve ever seen her run back toward the Crape Myrtles that line the driveway.  I helped her get the birds into the nest.  The mom and dad birds were still dive-bombing and screeching at us, so we all ran into the garage. 

As soon as we got into the garage, Arden burst into tears.  Lily followed.  They were both shrieking like someone had run over the dog in front of them.  I’m sure the neighborhood thought someone had died.  I am not sure I’ve ever seen them as upset as they were.  They were both so scared, and I think because I yelled, they thought I was mad at them.  I took them inside and tried to calm them down by telling them about the time, in Ann Arbor, I decided to take some robin’s eggs home with me to watch.  I ended up killing all of them. Ooops again.  I assured them the birds would be fine, that their mommy and daddy would feed them, and that I wasn’t mad.  We then discussed never touching anything in nest and promptly washed hands for the next 20 minutes in hot water and Clorox bleach. 

Mike came home in the midst of the screaming and helped me settle them down.  I needed about 30 minutes before my heart rate dropped into the normal zone, and I will possibly need a large glass of something alcoholic tonight.  Or a valium. Or both. 

I did some reading on the fabulous ‘net back in 2000 when we had a baby bird fall out of a nest in our front yard.  We watched the mom circle and make bird crying sounds until we couldn’t stand it, and picked up the bird so he could go back in the nest.  I had always heard that if you touch a baby bird, the parents will abandon it.  This is probably on par with some of the crap my family forwards me about men spraying you with cologne which is actually mace in parking lots so they can rob, then rape, then kill you - but I believed it.  The ‘net said otherwise.

Still, I was very relieved when I checked on the babies tonight.  They were both cuddled together, sleeping.  I further traumatized them by sticking a camera into the center of the Crape and taking this picture:

I’ll be even more relieved when I see the parents feeding them.