Today I saw a one legged grackle. No, I’m not joking, one-legged. I was sitting outside at a restaurant, minding my own business, and it flew in and sat on the chair beside me. Sat like a guest–a friend I’d met recently, but we both knew we would hit it off and become old friends. The bird and I should have just exchanged phone numbers so we could start writing each other long emails about funny things we heard that day, the indiosyncricies of our coworkers, and how tired we are. It sat there quietly chirping at me, as if I had something it wanted. I didn’t, I thought. I shrugged at it. It responded by shifting its weight on its one leg and cocking its head. I wish I had something other than soda. I would give it all my food, if I had any. Would it be silly to go and buy it some food? Would that be ridiculous? Somehow, I’m not concerned with him flying away if I did so. He would wait, my polite friend. I guess he asked, so he must wait. He took me up on an offer to buy him a brownie. It would be rude to hope away on his one leg.

While I was thinking this over, he continued to rock slightly on his sigular leg. It looked strong. I see (and note the odd shape of) the stump of his other limb. I wondered if any vets I called would volunteer to come out and net my friend, gently, and take him in. You know, to a soft bed, plenty of food, and perhaps they are creating titanium prosthetics for birds now. The war has turned it to a booming industry, I bet they have the resources, if I were to help with some funding, I could have my friend hoping around table legs and punting feet like a downhill skier. I bet.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s