Holy Tippi Hedren!
Seventy-two hours have passed.
Three days.
That was when I sat as I am currently - checking email, reading the New York Times online, completely ignoring whatever is on the television. That was when a small bird, obviously lost and hopelessly bewildered, flew into this room, heading for the large window to my left. Closed, of course.
Oh, dear. Unlike Tippi, I'm in no danger, but please don't let my daughter's 130 pound dog see it. Damn, too late. I can't get up fast enough because I know Maddox (a yellow Lab) will lunge after the bird demolishing the window and anything in his path. The problem is I need a solution. And quickly. First, I have to keep yelling at the dog. He will stop on command but only for a few moments, and each time the bird flits, Maddox starts anew. So I must keep yelling.
Next I run into the kitchen and grab a cloth napkin. Still yelling. Back into the bird room - where my new feathered friend continues to try to go out the closed window. I throw the napkin over the bird and scoop him up. Piece of cake.
Then I walk him out the porch door through which he undoubtedly came - with Maddox close behind, of course. I wave the napkin like a magician revealing the rabbit he's about to pull out of his hat and Presto! The bird emerges and immediately takes wing. Last seen heading southeast. No apparent damage.
Is there a moral to this story? I don't think so.
TGB
