Saving Private Robin

Mr. GG says I have a very strong maternal instinct. And a shitload of Catholic guilt. Which may explain why I am all wound up, angsting over a baby robin that fell out of his nest yesterday.

We’d been kind of watching a mama robin who built a nest in one of our whippy Gambel’s oak trees for the last month or so. Last weekend we had horrible rain storms with 70 mile per hour winds. They blew down a tree in our back yard, and left the patio littered with leaves and branches. We’d stand in the garage, partially sheltered by the open door and watch the nest bob up and down in the crotch of a tree. It made me seasick just looking at it. The mama was stuck on that nest like she was superglued.

Yesterday I found a fat little fluffy hatchling on the cement patio under the nest. I can’t believe I found it before the cats did. I put on gardening gloves, put the baby in a small hanging feeder with mesh screening on the bottom, and then put a small bowl of water and a couple of worms next to it.

Then I went in and called the Department of Wildlife, who told me to LEAVE IT ALONE, especially if mama bird was still around. Well, okay. I explained about the 3 cats, and justified my moving it, but I could tell they thought I was a ditz.

When Mr. GG got home from work, he checked on the baby and tried to feed it a worm I dug up, before he mumbled something about Darwin. But I noticed he kept an eye on the situation, and was quick to point it out when mama finally went to the feeder and stuffed something down her baby’s squawking maw. And he managed not to snicker at me when I was digging worms in the dusk, laying in a supply for overnight.

I think we were both surprised when the bird was still alive this morning – we had more rain and wind in the night. The first thing I did when I woke up was demand a sit rep from Mr. GG. So far baby is squawking and sleeping and mama chirps and flies around the yard scolding me. But I think she found the worms I left in the birdbath – to keep them moist and fresh.

I suspect that my worry over the bird is sublimated worry about the Baby. She and her friend Dani went out dancing and drinking in the clubs in Boston last weekend and Dani got ruffied. You know, someone dosed Dani’s drink with rohypnol, the date rape drug. One minute Dani was dancing, and the next she was totally out of it. The Baby managed to get Dani outside and was about to call 911, when some good Samaritan guys came along and carried Dani to their nearby apartment. (Yeah, I know, that scenario chills the blood, too, but the Baby says she has good people sense). The Samaritans let Dani and the Baby stay on their couch and the Baby helped Dani make it to the bathroom to puke for hours, till she snapped to, at about 5 in the morning. The girls left and made it home, exhausted and scared.

At one point the girls had been sharing a drink, and it was only by the grace of whoever that the Baby didn’t pass out too. A very, very narrow escape. Of course it was all over by the time I heard about it. But, a need to hurt someone almost overwhelmed me. Nobody messes with MY Baby. And here I am 2000 miles away, and my hands are tied, and there are vermin loitering around clubs in Boston, spiking drinks, deliberately planning sexual assault. I have got to tell you, if maternal rage could be harnessed, there would be some very dead asshole in Boston.

Which may be why I was out this morning turning over the dirt in the back yard, exposing a few earthworms for some other baby. We moms have to stick together.


One Response to “Saving Private Robin”

  1. Sue Says:

    Here Here!

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