Today when I got home, I was dragging myself across the parking lot when I came across a small little bird that had fallen from it's nest and appeared to be in state of distress hopping around, sort of, but mostly just squeaking and falling over in the parking lot, waiting to get run over. It wasn't making any sort of forward progress. I couldn't just leave it there, which was my primary argument to Justin when I walked into the apartment with a baby bird in my hands, and he asked what in the world we were supposed to do with it. A very valid question. I resorted to an internet search and determined that the best thing to do would be to try and locate the nest from which it fell and drop it back in there. This seemed like the best plan, primarily because the bird would presumably not get run over, or die on our hands.
We located the nest built in a corner of the parking cover. Unfortunately it was too high for Justin to reach up and return the bird. So after several moments of deliberation we decided that the best course of action would be for Justin to get down on all fours in the parking spot while I climb up on his back and deposit the bird back in the nest. So that's what we did, and I'm certain that we looked absurd, particularly with me there 7 months pregnant teetering on my husband's back. For the record the bird did appear to be more than a little bit eager to be returned to it's nest, there was a lot of tweeting and eager hopping to get back into it. At the time I was just pleased with ourselves for completing the mission, but in retrospect I realize how ridiculous we must have looked out there, and I wish we had a picture of it, and it wouldn't surprise me to find out that our neighbors actually do.
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