We have a mother bird and some new babies this week. Mama made a nest conveniently located in the crook of a downspout. It's safe from cats, birds, and our dog. The eaves shade the nest and keep off the rain. We noticed mama sitting on the nest intently, rarely leaving for a break. And then a few days ago, I noticed an empty shell on our deck and Mama was MIA. "Oh, no!" I thought the worst, so I reached up and grabbed the nest to see and found TWO very healthy baby birds. "Oh, no!" I bet now because I touched the nest, Mama will have nothing to do with them. I quickly put the nest back and moved out of the way. Sure enough, much to my releif, Mama arrived to feed the babies.

For some reason, I just feel bad for any hurt little animal. I don't like to see them suffer. Of course, that doesn't apply to ants in the house. They're getting sprayed. It doesn't apply to moths in the house, either. I suck those critters up in the vaccuum. I figure spiders are somewhat useful, so I keep one or two of those around. Termites - gotta go. Last year some yellow jackets took up residence in our backyard, and I got stung. Those buggers were nixed. Pretty much most insects can go. Mice and rats would have to go if I found any around. I don't have much use for worms, but we have an uneasy peace. They don't fly around, and I don't roll in the mud after it rains.

But except for those, I feel bad for all the OTHER animals when they get hurt.

Most times my feelings of animal injustice extend to fiction writing. As friends know (and I've mentioned in a previous blog) books like Sounder, Where the Red Fern Grows, and Charlotte's Web drive me up the wall.

But anyhoo, Mama bird and babies are doing just fine.