A bird dropped into the house this morning.
Yes, dropped would be the way I would describe it. I must have been awakened by the bird flying through the attic space because I definitely saw it Harrier into the room. Thunk! The dog also noted the appearance of another animal in the house. He also helped with the awakening-thing.
At first I didn’t know that it was a bird. I thought that it might be a squirrel, or maybe one of those rat-fink raccoons that have been known to burrow underneath the eaves and climb their plump/fat selves on the gutter causing the gutters to pull away from the house. Oops, I digress.
Anyway, I saw something fall into the room and then the dog went after it as it whizzed across the hallway. It was smaller than a raccoon, also it was a few feet off of the ground. “A bird!” I surmised.
Then it was in the dog’s mouth. “DROP!” I bellowed. (well, maybe more like screamed, I can’t say for sure.) The dog is amazingly obedient. I saw him fighting with himself. He knew he had to obey orders from the Alpha (me), but dear lord, he had a live animal in his mouth.
“DROP!” I repeated. (re-screamed?)
The bird flew to one window and clunked itself. Bouncing off, it raced to the other window with the dog in pursuit. “Don’t eat the bird!” I ordered.
The bird was, once again, in the jowls of the commando dog. The dog looked at me. “Dammit,” he telepathed. “This is my job. I am supposed to chase birds and return them. Also, I can save you.”
“LET THE BIRD GO!” He did. And the bird raced around as I tried to get the window open. Success, but the storm window was in the way. The bird was to the next room. The dog, once again, made a grab.
“DROP!” I wailed as I got the window in the bedroom open. There was fresh air. The bird was in the corner, next to the armoire, and the dog was going back for another go. I grabbed the dog by the collar and dragged him into the next bedroom.
“There’s a bird in the house, and I need you to keep an eye on the dog.” The 12-year old looked up from his covers. Like he didn’t hear the entire commotion. I bet he was hoping he could skip church this morning if he feigned sleep.
“Okay.” I left the dog in his room and went to see about the bird. I could see the tail sticking out from under the armoire. And he was breathing at about 2 zillion breaths per second. I tried to say something calming, and the 12 year old walked in. The dog, hot on his heels, trying for another mouthful.
“Okay,” I said again. “You watch the bird, and I will let the dog out.” I took the dog downstairs, put him in the room of the 15-year old with admonishments to “STAY THERE,” and went back upstairs.
The 12-year old was spying on the bird under the furniture. “He crawled all the way under.” We waited, prone. What to do next? The wind was coming in the room.
12-year old: Let’s get some bread and throw it out the window.
12-year old: He’ll chase it.
Me: It’s a bird not a dog. They don’t do the same thing.
Whooosh! The bird saw its chance and was out the window.
I was relieved that it could actually fly, after the mouth treatment by the 85 lb. yellow dragon.
It flew to the tree outside the house. Caught its breath for a few minutes then flew toward the spooky church across the street. Three more birds like him streaked after him. I guess they were interested in his story.
I hope he discouraged them from finding out for themselves. I sat down to a cup of coffee. And fed the dog.