Meet Max. He's the sweetie pie of my buddie Gnumoon . Max and Gnumoon have absolutely nothing to do with the following story. Its just that I haven't taken a blog worthy photo 'cept for Max winking at me in several days. Love ya, Max.
P.S. Ya better be nice to me Max because I now know many of your innermost secrets. Really. Your Innermost.
So here is a bit of excitement in my life:
I rescued a hummingbird the other day and am pleased to report it is
well and most certainly sipping nectar from flowers from along the
banks of the New River.
In the process of saving it, an important hillbilly myth was de-bunked.
You see, the hummingbird flew into an office solarium which of course,
is not it’s natural habitat. And which perplexed not only the poor
creature but also stymied some of the humans it encountered. Instead of
propping open all the outside doors and letting the bird find its way
out, there was much 'reckoning' about how to save it. In other words,
there was one heck of a hillbilly hoopla happening.
It was 'figured' a good idea that a broom wielded by a 9 year old little boy was the tool of choice to guide it down and out.
The hummingbird begged to differ with this method.
It dodged the straw like a pro for good long time all the while a bunch
of good-hearted folks carried on in a titter. It is safe to say the
economic level of productivity in this office came to a screeching halt.
I'm not sure how long the broom swiping was allowed to happen, because
I wasn’t there and was told this when I entered the scene. But when I
did arrive could tell the bird was pooped.
It sat perched above the doorway unaware that it was mere inches away from freedom.
I stopped to the broom rescue method, then grabbed a chair and told
everyone gathered that I would just pick up the bird and set it outside.
My method was challenged by one.
"DON"T YOU DARE!" she screamed. Her arms waved and her voice raised
several decibels above way too high. Seriously, the noise she made was
more rabid banshee than human.
"If'n you hold a hummingbird it'll die for sure. It'll shock its little heart and plum kill it dead, " she shrieked at me.
I thought, but did not say that the sound of her voice was enough to
seize my own heart into failure let alone that of the bird’s. Not to
mention that the broom vs. hummingbird method might cause little buddy
a few anxious moments.
Instead, I looked at her and said,
"Bullshit."
Which pretty much quieted the room except for the banshee. I ignored
her prognostications and I reached up to gently take hold of the
exhausted little fella. I carried him outside and placed him in the
grass.
Someone brought out a flower dripping with sugar water and he sipped it.
In the background I heard the banshee going on, "She's killin' it. It’s death is on her hands.Lord have mercy."
After 10 minutes of watching the hummingbird gather its wits, it set up and flew away to the top of a poplar tree.
I am please to say I walked back indoors to perfect, beautiful silence.
And of course I took photos. But I warn you, this photo was taken when we thought that there was no hope. However, I swear, this little guy recovered.
