|Jen van Wijn, photographer|
I think the general consensus (among women anyway) is that watching a man tenderly care for a baby or an animal is one of the sexiest things going. I must say, I agree. Read on......
We couldn't determine which nest belonged to the baby because there are several nests in the back yard. So The Husband (The 6'1" 240 pound Husband with tiny bird sitting quietly in latex-gloved hand) decides to teach the bird how to fly....with narration:
Well, little one, I don't know where you live, so I'm going to teach you to fly. And then I can scratch it off my bucket list. (At which point, I asked, "So teaching a bird to fly is on your bucket list?" He said, "It is now.") Speaking to the bird: You gotta do a good job because we have dogs that will eat you. OK, so all you gotta do is flap your wings when I tell you to. Ready? Here we go..... The Husband tosses the baby into the air. It flaps for a minute and crashes into the fence. He retrieves the baby.
That was a good try, but you gotta work on that landing or you're gonna get all fucked up. Let's try again. Ready? TH tosses the baby in the air. This time it crashes into the grill.
Your landings really suck. That could be a problem. Now, remember, you're supposed to flap your wings and fly up into a tree or someplace safe....up high....not on the ground. And you can't keep flying into shit. Fly straight. Got it? Ready? TH tosses baby in air. Baby circles right back to TH's hand. Which was actually pretty cool.
I'm glad you like me, but you really need to learn to fly. You can do it! Just go straight to the tree over there. No crash landings. Let's try again. Ready?
TH tosses baby in air and it flutters, unstable-y, near the pool. We all gasp, afraid it won't make across the vast expanse of water. But it does -- whew! -- and crashes into a temporary/fabric fence which was much softer than the grill or the wooden fence.
That was better, and way softer than that grill, huh? Good job! But I'm afraid you're just not strong enough to make it yet.....
The three of us confer and decide that the safest place for the baby is at the park near our house. TH reasoned that there was a creek for water and lots of bugs to eat. And they had recently mowed, so getting sliced to tiny bits wasn't an issue. Hey, we tried to cover all our bases. So, TH carried the baby, I drove, and we all found a comfy spot by the creek. We said our good-byes, wished it luck, and headed home, hoping we had done our good deed for the day (instead of leaving it alone and helpless for the proverbial wolves).
I haven't been back to check on it. I'm afraid I'll find a tiny carcass and I would rather believe that it is, instead, flying happily with other doves, falling in love, and naming its little dove babies after us.
And, yes, seeing a hunky man encouraging the baby bird in his hand to fly is the sexiest thing ever. Except maybe getting a view of his backside when he's wearing his motorcycle chaps. It's a toss up.
Have you rescued an animal? Or do you prefer chapped butts (wait...that didn't come out right....)?
Have you been there?