Booya, Grandma

one of my very favorite commercials of all time is the crash bandicoot commercial for some weird video game… remember those ones where the guy dressed up in that huge bandicoot costume and went around being silly? well i do. there was one where he was driving, and was next to a grandma. and for some reason he yelled ‘booya, grandma. booya’. (if you haven't seen it, see it here.) i miss those commercials. 

great news: i found my own crash bandicoot on sunday night… well, correction: jola found my crash bandicoot.

jo likes to be outside in the front, so I have a tie-out for her, and she can stay out there and watch the world go by, bark a little, and not run away. sunday night, she was on the porch, whining and making weird noises directed at the corner of the porch, behind a wooden box. i went out to investigate, rocking the box a bit and checking the corner. nothing… but jola flipped and moved to the other side of the box, where i saw a flurry of weird movement.the movement went back the other way, jola went the other way, somehow she caught whatever it was that was moving (and causing my heart to race) and trotted out to the garden with it in her mouth.

the command ‘drop it’ does nothing for jo when she's found foreign, moving objects that smell new and animal-y. obviously, this was what she caught. i assumed it was a mouse and was preparing for the gross factor as I pulled her closer and opened her mouth.

a little swallow dropped out and fluttered to one side, then laid resting on it’s back, his little chest heaving.

jola went RIGHT back inside and i took a closer look, and my heart almost literally broke. this poor little bird lying in the dirt, illuminated by the porch light… the moving shadow of  his heaving chest the only evidence of the trip in the dog’s mouth. how could my dog do that?

i ran inside, rapidly searching my brain to remember what baby birds need. i found a shoe box and a few soft dishtowels and ran back outside (running is a relative term, as i’m still in a clunky boot). now came time to be brave enough to pick the poor thing up… i took a plastic shopping bag and after about five or six deep breaths, i grabbed him gently and placed him in the box. he just sat there and stared at me. (btw, have i mentioned i really, really dislike birds and their beady little eyes and bony little legs and toes? ewww. but at the same time, i love them. this was testing my love/hate relationship).

the love relationship won out, and i brought him inside, and quickly googled what to do… apparently keeping a wild animal of ANY kind in your house is completely illegal, even if they are hurt and you found them. the bird, whom we named Crash, looked ok- no blood or brokenness, just a few fluffed feathers and funny looking wing. turns out the best thing to do is cover the box and put them in a dark, quiet place without stimulation. this allows the blood in the bird’s head to continue to flow, which is good since most birds that fall or have trauma end up with concussions.

little Crash and his box sat in my dark room on a book shelf for two hours, and then it was time to let him out, to see if he could fly. it was cold outside, but birds live outside, so I was torn if he would be ok out in the cold or not… the webpages had warned about keeping the bird warm and feeding it these special mixes of things if it couldn’t fly. i was nervous i would have a third pet, and i know myla and jola would not appreciate a feathered friend in the house for very long without eating it…. i HOPED it could fly, with all my heart.

meliss and i decided to try to put it in the bird nest that’s up in the corner of our porch awning. she wouldn’t touch it, so i got up on the wooden box with the shoebox holding Crash, and tried to figure out how to get him from one home to the next. i was going to attempt the plastic bag grab again, but as i went for him, Crash fluttered out of the box and onto the ground and hopped away. this gave me and meliss a slight heart attack and got jola barking like crazy behind the glass door. i shooed Crash down to the ground, into the leaves and shrubs were he would have more protection and (hopefully) more warmth. i hoped that he would survive the night.

the next morning i checked the front garden for traces of little Crash, and preparing myself for a birdscicle and small burial service. more great news: Crash had survived the night (as far as i could tell) and he was not to be seen anywhere! hopefully the friends of Crash, maybe even mama Crash, came to his rescue and he is in some bird paradise right now, recovering and telling good stories of his night inside 1364 dahlia. the next time i hear a bird outside, I will think of him.

booya, Crash, booya.