Boy is in football camp this week.
This is good on two accounts. First, Boy gets to work those lungs. (Exercise is important to little people with CF as it helps to move the mucus and keep their airways clear). Secondly (and almost as importantly) I get an extra hour’s lay-in.
It also makes for more relaxed breakfasts, although this morning calamity struck. Well, nearly.
One of us left the glasshouse door open last night. (I probably have to put my hand up here, as it was my deck chair wedging the door open). And a bird had got in.
Not much damage on the vegetation front. (One geranium and a tray of chilli seedlings is the cumulative total of my horticultural aspirations to date). However, I was left with the problem of what to do with the bird.
He (or she…I’m no avian expert) looked like a blue tit, a youngster probably, frightened and thrashing against the glass like an Iron Maiden fan.
Now I’m not that into feathers (unless they’re Siberian duck down, safely in my White Company duvet). Or things that move suddenly. So I’m afraid the rescue attempt involved me at arm’s length, a long broom and another bird/window collision.
Bird dropped into OH’s lawn mower bucket. The knock didn’t sound too bad, so I carried the bucket to the lawn and stood watch over it, just in case the fox or any neighbourhood cat got ideas.
I toyed with the idea of taking a picture of the little fellow, but it felt wrong snapping an unconsious bird. (Although, to be fair, it would be the only way I’ll ever take a decent close-up bird shot).
I’m glad to say the little fellow made it, although I’m betting he had one hell of a headache. Sadly, by the time I’d returned with my camera to record the happy moment, he was in the apple tree!
Boy missed all the excitement. And I missed my leisurely toast, but that seemed a small price to pay for a happy Easter ending.