jerry

Whilst leaving the hospital after leaving my Papa (he fell, broke 9 ribs, collapsed a lung, and fractured his pelvis in two places) my mom and I noticed a small bird attempting to fly in the parking garage. He was clearly exhausted and possibly hurt. Which was upsetting. Being the animal lovers we are, we decided to rescue him. After all, Pontiac is not the best place for goldfinches to be. The security guard lady, who noticed us staring and deciding what to do with Jerry (I named him Jerry), said that one of the assholes who worked as a guard was walking around, knocking down nests. Mom literally walked up behind him, picked him up, and put him in the box. He looked similar to this: I sat in the back seat of the car and making an honest attempt to keep him from trying to fly. Loose bird in the car...not exactly ideal. He eventually fell asleep in my hand. When we arrived home, I went tromping through the neighborhood looking for a cage so that we could feed him and keep him safe until he could fly. He then pooped in my hand. To be fair, he tried to be courteous but I was holding him and making sure he didn't get caught by a cat. Walking back to the house with a cage, Jerry decided that he could fly and perched himself about ten feet up in a tree on the side of the house. I was quite sad to see him go, but I suppose LOtown is a better spot to grow up that Pontiac. Right?