dr. doolittle

If you know our family at all - you already know who this post is about. It's the child who spent "quiet time" as a three-year-old printing "Ivory Kills" posters; the one who chose his 4th halloween costume to promote the plight of endangered speices; the same child whose bedroom window was visited annually by a pair of wild ducks until he changed rooms with his sister. In the course of a short lifetime this normally peaceful child has shouted at elephant trainers, confronted a shotgun-weilding cowboy who was taking out five-foot rattlesnakes (nevermind that the revolting things were slithering right onto our proposed path), written a diatribe to Cub Foods regarding their live lobsters on ice, adopted an African Elephant, fiercely defended countless ant houses, and is the master of catch-and-release for all wayward spiders/moths/cetipedes or junebugs that may make their way into our home. The first swear word that ever slipped out of this kid's mouth was "damn poachers".

Of course I am talking about Punk.

So when we found a little bird egg in our yard, Punk decided to take it in. And - because this is Punk's house, there was already a real, empty birds nest sitting in our kitchen. (A birthday gift to me last year from the kids, and I couldn't bear to part with it.)



We're afraid the little egg has already suffered too much trauma to survive - a very windy day, a big fall, and a chilly evening - but if sheer hope counts for anything - Punk will have a new pet robin in no time at all.

And if it does actually hatch, he's prepared for that too. We talked about how the mother bird regurgitates worms,bugs and berries into baby bird's mouth. With no hesitation, he replied, "Oh, I would do that. If it meant the life of the bird, I would do that for sure." I think he is serious. I know he is.