I only wanted to shake a rug.

Easter Sunday.

It was also our 34th wedding anniversary. When someone asks, “How long have you been married?”, I used to do the math in my head quickly and give a cheery answer. Now, I just sigh and reply, “A long, long time.” Smiling, “My, oh my, how time flies.”

It was also my three-month smoke-free anniversary. Wow. Another good reason to keep away from those blasted jelly beans I love so much. Instead of enjoying the usual entire bag of beans, I ate half the bag which only yielded a measly 25 beans. Why bother.

It was also the final day of the Masters Golf Tournament - a sacred event at my house. Let’s be quiet, everyone, so we can hear the announcers whisper about the birdies, eagles, and drat! those sand traps…

So, in preparation of the televised event, and in celebration of everything else this day represented, I vacuumed the floors, worked on the laundry pile, and prepared for dinner.
All of this lead me to the most significant event of the day – a tiny story that only I can tell because only I was there. It had to do with shaking the dust from the scatter rugs. I made a foolish mistake. I knew the House Finches had a brood under the roof of the front porch but they have quiet babies. Who knew they were ready to leave the nest? Not me!

The rug was over my head, ready for the shake and snap, when out of the corner of my eye, ten feet away, I saw two baby house finches dart from the nest, each flying in opposite directions of each other. One of them flew down the steps and around the corner of the house, out of sight. The other flew down from the nest and up towards me, over the railing, down the hill, across the street and up into a tall maple tree. A very long first flight. All of this happened so quickly – I froze, clutching the scatter rug to my chest, and listened to Mom and Dad scream. I don’t know how they decided on which way to fly first.

Shocked, I fled the scene. Inside, I hid behind the window like a criminal and watched their crisis through the blinds.

Look at stressed out Mama.

I felt awful photographing her grief. To sympathize with a female bird… It’s the mother’s instinct we have in common, I guess.

Did she see me peeking between the window blinds? Was I to blame? Apparently, I was.

It’s an accident that I didn’t capture her mouth wide open and tongue wagging and rolling because she was certainly hollering up a storm.

I believed she was in good control of the situation but I certainly wondered why she remained on the porch instead of hunting down her offspring?

Oh. That’s why. The one that didn’t get away.

I had to go about my own business for a few hours. Mama Finch certainly didn’t need my interference again.

After dinner, I heard ruckus on the front porch and found this:

Hey!
Where did everybody go?
It’s very poopy up here and I don’t like it.
Ok! Ok!
Ready or not…