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Jul. 15th, 2009 07:46 pmI wonder if birds have changeling myths. Well... I don't know what's the right term, because it would be more like instinct or racial memory, but, y'know. If a baby bird falls out of its nest, gets taken in by strange giant monsters, and comes back again, do the parents wonder if the one that came back isn't the right one?
(Now I want to, somehow, write a story about that.)
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I also wonder if the birds yesterday knew we were trying to help.
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My backyard is a no trespassing zone right now. There are a couple of fledglings -- not related to the baby birds from the other day, which were in a tree in *front* of my apartment -- larking about, adorable little fluffy fuzzballs, with parents on full attention. My roommate tried to water the tomato plant and got divebombed.
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The stories in my head keep morphing. It makes them very hard to pin down in words.
(But at least they're *there*.)
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If I had the money, and if I had the physical ability, I would be so very tempted to get a bird of some sort. It's probably better that I don't.
I wish I had some sort of warmfuzzycute. Stuffed animals are nice to hug but they don't quite cut it.
Maybe one of these days I'll get my service dog.
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When I was a kid, I wanted to be a small-animal vet. (Among other things. I also wanted to be an astronaut, an author and self-illustrator, a multilingual translator, and a forest elf. And many things I've since forgotten.) My sister was allergic to anything with fur, more or less, so we never had a dog, or a cat, or a guinea pig, or anything like that -- I did get fish, in junior high or thereabouts, but fish are seriously not cuddly at all -- but I had it all planned out. I'd grow up to be the sort of person with a zoo for a house, and also get animal contact through veterinarianism.
Being a vet isn't practical when you can't move. Neither is owning pets.
Still, there's a part of me that wants all of that. Even now.
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*sends pettings-by-proxy to all the fuzzy critters who own the people reading this*
(Now I want to, somehow, write a story about that.)
#
I also wonder if the birds yesterday knew we were trying to help.
#
My backyard is a no trespassing zone right now. There are a couple of fledglings -- not related to the baby birds from the other day, which were in a tree in *front* of my apartment -- larking about, adorable little fluffy fuzzballs, with parents on full attention. My roommate tried to water the tomato plant and got divebombed.
#
The stories in my head keep morphing. It makes them very hard to pin down in words.
(But at least they're *there*.)
#
If I had the money, and if I had the physical ability, I would be so very tempted to get a bird of some sort. It's probably better that I don't.
I wish I had some sort of warmfuzzycute. Stuffed animals are nice to hug but they don't quite cut it.
Maybe one of these days I'll get my service dog.
#
When I was a kid, I wanted to be a small-animal vet. (Among other things. I also wanted to be an astronaut, an author and self-illustrator, a multilingual translator, and a forest elf. And many things I've since forgotten.) My sister was allergic to anything with fur, more or less, so we never had a dog, or a cat, or a guinea pig, or anything like that -- I did get fish, in junior high or thereabouts, but fish are seriously not cuddly at all -- but I had it all planned out. I'd grow up to be the sort of person with a zoo for a house, and also get animal contact through veterinarianism.
Being a vet isn't practical when you can't move. Neither is owning pets.
Still, there's a part of me that wants all of that. Even now.
#
*sends pettings-by-proxy to all the fuzzy critters who own the people reading this*
