A Bird In The Hand

After twenty-eight(28) days of waiting we wanted the baby goose to emerge.  Perfect and wet with a tiny bill and an egg tooth.  We wanted to watch it dry in the humidity of the incubator and take its first steps.  It did not happen.  Today, after thirty days we cracked the egg open to find mold and a nasty, creamy center.  No doubt, a rotten egg.  It had been forming, but not into a perfect little goose.  It formed in to a nasty, stinky rotten egg beloved by my cat and dogs.  They hurried over to check the delicious smell only to find me covering their next meal in dirt.  

Earlier in the morning as we arrived at the barn for our routine milking, the children saved a tiny male cardinal from the kitten's jaws.  I am not sure which kitten they shamed for being a, well, a cat.  The entire herd of cats was confused by the taking of the cheeping bird from their grips only to be held above their heads and out of reach.  The cats searched high and low and could not find the baby bird finding refuge in Brett's hands.  

Chloe announced, "Finally!!!  God has sent me the bird I have been longing for!"  If I had a free hand I would've slapped my head.  Brett was a little less dramatic and insisted we care for the injured bird.  I decided to take it to someone with experience.  We drove in to town to drop Chloe's friend, who had spent the night, at her dance camp.  I was wearing my inappropriately short denim cutoff milking shorts, an extra large Dr. Pepper shirt I won with a bottle cap entry, lace up waterproof gray boots and I opted for a bra before leaving the house.  We were rushing to get her friend to dance camp on time.   I call the wildlife refuge clinic and they are excited for and agree to treat the chirping bird.

I drive as fast as my car will take us while also maintaining the appropriate posted speed limit to avoid another speeding ticket.  The last one set me back nearly $200 and also the abuse of a husband constantly reminding me of my infraction.  The guilt of spending that much money on something so useless is punishment enough.  The refuge is located in Kendalia.  Kendalia is about forty-five minutes from my house.  twenty minutes in to the ride Brett announces, "We no longer need to go to the refuge.  The bird died."  I quickly pull over off the two lane highway with dust flying as I slam on my breaks.  I'm no sure when I became emotionally invested in the cardinal.  I take a closer look.  He is, in fact, dead.  I turn the car around and return home.  We bury the cardinal with the rotten egg.  Sadly, the birds in our hand were not worth more than the two in the bush.

I am thankful I never arrived at the wildlife refuge in my milking outfit.. (Day 191).  Goodnight Friends.