FRIEND:
I found a baby bird yesterday night and
i took him home.
i took him home.
ME:
What? Where you found him?
FRIEND:
We are on way to you, i put him in paper box
ME:
Alright!
“
I rule this nest now. Breakfast at 6a.m., no excuses.
First Day in My New Foster Home
I was walking home — dead tired, hungry, and honestly just wanting my bed. Then I heard this weird squeaky noise near the sidewalk. Thought, “Great. A rat.”
I looked down and almost crushed whatever it was with my shoe. But then I saw it — not a rat. Not a mouse. Something… fluffy? Weirdly shaped. A freaking bird. A baby bird. Just lying there on the pavement like he owned the place.
I stared at it. It stared at me — or tried to, I think one eye was still half-closed. Looked like a fuzzy blueberry with a beak. And then I said the stupidest thing:
“If I can save this little guy, I will.” (Why? No idea. Midnight logic.)
I looked down and almost crushed whatever it was with my shoe. But then I saw it — not a rat. Not a mouse. Something… fluffy? Weirdly shaped. A freaking bird. A baby bird. Just lying there on the pavement like he owned the place.
I stared at it. It stared at me — or tried to, I think one eye was still half-closed. Looked like a fuzzy blueberry with a beak. And then I said the stupidest thing:
“If I can save this little guy, I will.” (Why? No idea. Midnight logic.)
“
If I can save this little guy, I will.
Got home, found the fanciest cardboard box I had — it was from chocolate. Gently placed him inside like I knew what I was doing. Spoiler: I didn’t.
Then came the next question:
What the hell do baby birds even eat?
It’s 1:00 AM and I’m standing there with a bird in a candy box thinking, “Well, milk is bad… I think? What do birds drink? Juice? ”
So I told him:
“Okay, buddy. Just survive the night. I’m taking you to my friend in the morning. If anyone knows what to do — it’s her.” And he blinked. Or sneezed. Hard to tell with birds.
Then came the next question:
What the hell do baby birds even eat?
It’s 1:00 AM and I’m standing there with a bird in a candy box thinking, “Well, milk is bad… I think? What do birds drink? Juice? ”
So I told him:
“Okay, buddy. Just survive the night. I’m taking you to my friend in the morning. If anyone knows what to do — it’s her.” And he blinked. Or sneezed. Hard to tell with birds.
