Earlier this evening, Ben and I were in our living room with Asher when we looked out the window into our backyard and saw that the roadrunner had returned. Of course I got excited (because I love the roadrunner) and I told Ben how earlier the bird had been running laps around Harlan (hugely entertaining). Ben said he wanted to let Harlan out to see this for himself, and right about then I noticed that our roadrunner looked ruffled. Actually, 'tousled' was my exact word. The bird looked tousled.
But I didn't think much of a few feathers out of place, so out we went (as a family, because this is what families do in Albuquerque) to the patio to watch our big dumb oaf of a dog prance after an animal ten times faster than him. Only disaster struck. Harlan saw the bird immediately and took off after it, and while the roadrunner could still out sprint Harlan, he wasn't able to fly up out of our walled-in yard to escape him. The 'tousled' look was more than superficial. Our roadrunner was missing parts of his wings.
Now. Every person who reads this blog is thinking, "no big deal, the world has a bajillion birds". Except to the person writing this blog, this was a BIG DEAL. I have a ridiculously sensitive heart for my furry, feathery, and fin-ny friends. And I don't mean this in a "I'm so cute, I love animals" sort of way. We all know 'animal lovers', sure. But what I have is an animal problem, an animal weakness, an animal I'm-gonna-sink-into-a-pit-of-despair-that-I-can't-crawl-out-of syndrome. It's not endearing, it's hugely embarrassing. I once started crying when I saw a turkey (healthy and alive) wandering through an inner city park in Connecticut because I felt bad for it that it got lost and ended up in crappy New Haven. I became a vegetarian after passing one of those semis on the highway that is loaded up with pigs when I saw two snouts sticking out through the holes and thought they seemed sad and afraid. I cry during every movie where the Hulk gets beat up because the Hulk reminds me of an animal. We are so far past where animal loving is still cute.
So, Harlan corners this terrified roadrunner in our yard and I start screaming. Also important to note here is that just last Friday during my weekly call with Melinda at Iowa City Hospice, we were talking about her neighbor who lost her cool over a dead duck. And we agreed "Who freaks out over a dead duck?". I probably shouldn't have acted like such a hero Melinda, because tonight I lost my mind over a still-alive roadrunner. Luckily, Harlan (for the first time in his life) listened to me and trotted away from the bird and back to us on the patio. This is when Ben looked at me and said, "Love, go inside..." but not before my lip starts trembling, then my chin, and in less than 5 seconds I have burst into tears. I hand Asher over to Ben while sobbing and saying "He's hurt! What are we going to do? He can't get out! We have to feed him! What do roadrunners eat?". This is where my husband deserves all the credit in the world. While his hysterical wife sprints into the house to crazily google, "What do roadrunners eat?", he calmly brings the dog inside, sets our son in his bouncy chair, and ponders how to get the bird out of our yard before I have a heart attack. Meanwhile, I am reading that roadrunners are carnivorous and mostly eat rattlesnakes. My first thought was "Bad ass!" and my second thought was "Son of a bitch, where am I going to get a rattle snake???". I hurry into our kitchen and open the fridge. Ben comes in and finds me just about to head out the back door with a rotisserie chicken in hand. Gently, he stops me and says, "Love. You can't give the roadrunner our chicken." I (sobbing) say, "He needs to eat or he will die!" and Ben says, "He doesn't have wings, his chances are pretty slim. Chicken isn't going to help." This is where the pit of despair comes in. I can see this terrified, wingless bird sprinting around our yard, just as frantic as I currently am, and I know I can't help it. So I just stand in the middle of the kitchen, cradling a rotisserie chicken, weeping, while Ben lovingly blocks my exit into the backyard and Asher stares at me with a completely bewildered look (oh yeah, news flash son, your mom is a complete lunatic when it comes to frightened, injured animals... brace yourself for an awesome 10 years of watching Disney movies...). Finally, I agree to let Ben usher the bird out a gate at the side of our house so that I don't watch it run around in circles all night.
So. That was our evening. It took me a good 30 minutes to settle down. After which I asked Ben, "If you could change anything one thing about me, would it be that?" and he replied, "That's what makes you 'you'. I wouldn't change it." Someone give the guy a prize. Not a lot of men could so patiently tolerate (and hand-hold) a girl through an event like we went through tonight. I love you Ben.
No comments:
Post a Comment