Last week I found a baby bird hopping around on the ground near my front door. Knowing well my sweet dogs' affinity for playing too rough with all things furry, I knew I had to do something.
I asked Art to get the ladder and put the baby bird back in the nest. I love a hero.
But my thrill of lifesaving was short lived. The baby bird wouldn't stay in the nest. It was absolutely determined to jump back to the ground.
I don't know if you've ever tried to converse with a baby bird, but they are feisty little things. I bossed him and bossed him to stay in his nest to no avail. So, it was time to kick my rescue efforts into high gear.
I walked in my house rubbing my temples saying, "think Lysa, think, think, think!"
I climbed up on a high shelf and retrieved a bird house meant only for decoration. With much finagling I got the baby bird scooped into this safe haven. Then I googled "bird woman" with my city name hoping I'd find some rescue lady for my feathery friend.
I found a number and with great excitement called. But while the person on the other end knew a lot about birds, he did not rescue them. His advice?
My bird needed to be fed.
Hunh?
Yes, fed.
Lunchables? Spaghettios? Chicken nuggets?
The kind gentleman on the other end of the line went into great detail on how mama birds eat and then regurgitate the food into their babies mouths. Just for a second I wondered if this might be my answer to eating a piece of chocolate cake on my no sugar plan.
Technically, if I never digest it, it won't count right? Mercy, do you see the lengths my taste buds are willing to go to try and trip me up?
Don't worry, I haven't cheated.
Another option was to dig up an earth worm, smush it up and feed small portions of it to the baby bird with tweezers.
Okie dokie. This is not exactly how I thought my morning was going to go.
So, I decided to improvise. I smushed up a piece of bread, soaked it in a drop of milk and tried my best to tell the bird that this was the next best thing to smushed worm.
He didn't go for it.
Right before the man hung up, he did give me one more number to try.
"Oh please, oh please, oh please, oh please," I repeated over and over while the phone just kept ringing. When an answering machine clicked on I formulated a most desperate message that would surely warrant my call the first to be returned.
But I never got a chance to leave my stellar message. For the machine instructed anyone who'd rescued a baby bird off the ground to go put it back. The mama bird would be looking for it. And not to worry if I'd touched the bird- the mama would still care for her young.
Apparently, it's all part of the learning to fly process. A baby bird matures to the point it hops out of the nest. It then must hop around on the ground for a week or so before it has the strength to fly. But not to worry, it would be under close supervision of its mama bird.
Oh dear.
I'm a bird kidnapper.
Quickly, I called the dogs inside. I walked outside announcing my deepest apologies to the wild world of birds. I went on and on justifying my kidnapping of the young bird because you see I'm a mama myself and I have a strong protective sense about me. I had nothing but good intentions and I'm so sorry if I'd worried some birdie parents slap to death.
After putting the baby bird back in the exact spot I'd found it, I offered up one last I'm so very sorry feeling certain the wind would carry my sincerity to the mama bird and make her feel better.
I then walked back inside and realized I'd been talking to birds all morning.
Y'all. I think this no sugar diet is messing with my head. And while I'm doing really well and seeing great results, I still miss some things terribly. Oh you just have no idea.
I asked Art to get the ladder and put the baby bird back in the nest. I love a hero.
But my thrill of lifesaving was short lived. The baby bird wouldn't stay in the nest. It was absolutely determined to jump back to the ground.
I don't know if you've ever tried to converse with a baby bird, but they are feisty little things. I bossed him and bossed him to stay in his nest to no avail. So, it was time to kick my rescue efforts into high gear.
I walked in my house rubbing my temples saying, "think Lysa, think, think, think!"
I climbed up on a high shelf and retrieved a bird house meant only for decoration. With much finagling I got the baby bird scooped into this safe haven. Then I googled "bird woman" with my city name hoping I'd find some rescue lady for my feathery friend.
I found a number and with great excitement called. But while the person on the other end knew a lot about birds, he did not rescue them. His advice?
My bird needed to be fed.
Hunh?
Yes, fed.
Lunchables? Spaghettios? Chicken nuggets?
The kind gentleman on the other end of the line went into great detail on how mama birds eat and then regurgitate the food into their babies mouths. Just for a second I wondered if this might be my answer to eating a piece of chocolate cake on my no sugar plan.
Technically, if I never digest it, it won't count right? Mercy, do you see the lengths my taste buds are willing to go to try and trip me up?
Don't worry, I haven't cheated.
Another option was to dig up an earth worm, smush it up and feed small portions of it to the baby bird with tweezers.
Okie dokie. This is not exactly how I thought my morning was going to go.
So, I decided to improvise. I smushed up a piece of bread, soaked it in a drop of milk and tried my best to tell the bird that this was the next best thing to smushed worm.
He didn't go for it.
Right before the man hung up, he did give me one more number to try.
"Oh please, oh please, oh please, oh please," I repeated over and over while the phone just kept ringing. When an answering machine clicked on I formulated a most desperate message that would surely warrant my call the first to be returned.
But I never got a chance to leave my stellar message. For the machine instructed anyone who'd rescued a baby bird off the ground to go put it back. The mama bird would be looking for it. And not to worry if I'd touched the bird- the mama would still care for her young.
Apparently, it's all part of the learning to fly process. A baby bird matures to the point it hops out of the nest. It then must hop around on the ground for a week or so before it has the strength to fly. But not to worry, it would be under close supervision of its mama bird.
Oh dear.
I'm a bird kidnapper.
Quickly, I called the dogs inside. I walked outside announcing my deepest apologies to the wild world of birds. I went on and on justifying my kidnapping of the young bird because you see I'm a mama myself and I have a strong protective sense about me. I had nothing but good intentions and I'm so sorry if I'd worried some birdie parents slap to death.
After putting the baby bird back in the exact spot I'd found it, I offered up one last I'm so very sorry feeling certain the wind would carry my sincerity to the mama bird and make her feel better.
I then walked back inside and realized I'd been talking to birds all morning.
Y'all. I think this no sugar diet is messing with my head. And while I'm doing really well and seeing great results, I still miss some things terribly. Oh you just have no idea.
I won't list out the things I miss because maybe some of you are joining me and I don't want to make any suggestions that might lead you astray. But I will state for the record that the Double Tree Hotel has hands down the yummiest looking and smelling cookies you have ever encountered.
Ever!
And I had to look at the sweet check-in lady trying to hand me said cookie and say no thank you. That's what I said with my mouth.
My head was screaming, "Get behind me SATAN!"
I guess you could say, some days not allowing yourself to eat sugar, is for the birds. Literally.
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One quick announcement: Word has it, Antique Mommy is starting an on-line Bible Study today. And tickle me pink, she's using my book "What Happens When Women Say Yes to God." I know she'd love to have you join in. You can check it out here.
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