A week ago, my husband came home from work with a box.
"It was injured," he said.
"¡Pájaro!" exclaimed my son.
"Oh..." I said.
"I'm going to rehabilitate it," Alejandro said.
He really meant me, because he would be working each day all day.
Fortunately, rehabilitating a wild bird requires nothing more than leaving it alone in a box with plenty of food and water and keeping the dog and child from loving him to death or eating him.
"By the way, his name is Jumpy," my husband sent me in a text message the next day.
"We are not keeping him," I thought out loud in the kitchen as Danny watched him from the kitchen stool through plexiglass.
Fortunately, wild birds won't be kept. And actually, within a few days, he was flitting his way around our living room when we had him out one day. It was clear, he was soon ready to fly.
Jumpy, you've been a great week-long pet.
Except, of course, when you're pooping on my floor.
Or in my hand.
And now, my friend, as much as a certain little boy would love to let you stay,
it's time you go back home. (Danny's waving hello. He looked, but was not too eager to touch.)
Fly away, little Jumpy! And have a good life!
Hace una semana, mi esposo llegó a la casa con una caja.