Edgar

Last night after dinner Rilla and I were playing with her blocks in the living room (she loves this activity but only at this specific time) when I heard a knock on the door. We were expecting company but not until after 8, so imagine my surprise when I opened the door to see my nine year old standing there. Holding a  bird. In a napkin.

"We've got to save him!" Zach cried passionately.

"Don't touch it!" I cried with equal passion.

At this time our neighbor came down to offer some cake to the kids, the doorknob fell off the front door for the fourth time that day, and Zach told me that during the rescue mission he stopped in dog poo with his school shoes. Oh, and the baby put her rain boots on and abandoned her blocks in favor of going outside to see the dying bird.

Sigh.

John was texted, the bird settled gently in the grass to await his private nurse, and I tried to get Rilla into bed (after cake of course).  

My knight in shining armor arrived on the scene, and having only his weight lifting gloves on hand, put those on and proceeded to administer tender care towards both bird and boys.

Despite the tears, old parakeet cage/food/water and medical attention, Edgar didn't make it. He is buried in our backyard. Thanks for the sweet memories, feathered friend! 

:0)