I seem to have a talent for knowing when Rose updates, especially considering I no longer check my buddies page at Diaryland, and she doesn't have a notify list as far as I know. She briefly goes over my heroic saving of a baby urban brown bird this past weekend. I have no idea what they are really called, but it was young, and wasn't doing so well.
I was walking downtown on the way to meet Rose and her sister, Natou, at Buffet Maharaja, where Rose was showing Natou the glories of Indian buttered chicken, something Rose can't get enough of. On the way there, I saw a little moineau, one of those small, brown birds you see all over the city, at least in this part of Canada. Other cities have other kinds of small, urban birds, I'm sure.
<aside>
That reminds me, is it just Montreal, or are urban pigeons so fucking fat and lazy that they can only be bothered to fly when in mortal danger? I heard of pigeons somewhere in Britain that learned when the trains to the country left in the morning, so they hitched a ride out in the morning and came back home in the city in the evening, just like me. Is this normal, or is urban living fucking EVERYTHING up?)
</aside>
When I picked up the bird, who initially protested my handling of him (imagine, a hundred-foot highly intelligent bird who picks you up by its beak, and you're only three years old), I immediately noticed that his wing wasn't closing easily, and his feet seemed a little mangled. It could be because of his early age, but maybe not. As I was entering the restaurant, he heard some of his peers in the trees and chirped as if to say, "I'm here! I'm here! Help!". I put him in my camera bag and went inside. I beckoned to Rose to come outside. When I showed her the bird, she melted. But then she immediately toughened up and pretty much took charge after that. She decided that we would finish eating and then save the bird.
I called up Suj and Liz. Suj suggested the SPCA and gave me the coordinates. Liz suggested the pet store which was much closer. She also seemed to think that we would have to care for the bird ourselves until he is ready to fly away. Rose chose option 1 and she, Natou, Ti-Pit (her choice, and very apt it seems) and I took the metro the ten or so stops to drop him off at the SPCA. They fed him, treated him and released him with his brethren. That was our good deed for the day.
I was quite impressed with what happened once she was presented with a situation in which she felt compelled to act. She simply took charge, and was completely sure of herself. Confident, sure. It was quite nice to see that side of her, and I am seeing it more and more lately as she gets closer to her goal of the completion of her studies.
She says that Ti-Pit "is a French-Canadian expression for “Little Bird” or “Airheaded Teenage Boy” or “Poor Little Thing”. You can call a “ti-pit” somebody you think has poor judgment in the matter at hand, that you pity or that you love dearly." I think she has used the term on me to mean all of these things. I will examine the situation more closely the next time she calls me that. ;)
