Tuesday, May 22nd, 2007...8:53 am
The very special story of Special Ed
When I was 11-years-old, a newborn baby bird fell out of its nest and onto the pavement leading up to my house’s front door. I picked him up, put him in a shoebox, and watched him die.
I buried him in my front yard and placed a Star of David, fashioned out of colored pipe cleaners, on his “grave”.
Twenty years later, I tried to save another one. Only this bird was somewhat…how can I put this…”special”.
During a barbecue on Sunday to celebrate The Princess’ graduation from the University of Maryland, we found a baby bird lying in our side yard. Fearing he might become the neighboring cat’s lunch, some friends and I kept an eye on the little fuzz ball. We were happy to see when Mama Bird came back every so often to feed him a worm.
While we were distracted, though, the idiot bird walked onto a window grate and fell through into the window well about 6 feet below. What kind of moron mistakes a grate for a nest? In any case, I strapped on The Princess’ garden gloves and lowered myself into the well to help him.
I never saw a more ungrateful bipedal, warm-blooded, egg-laying vertebrate animal.
Despite an obvious fractured leg, this little turd-eater kept scampering about, chirping and crying like I was trying to eat him.
Eventually, I was able to snag him in a plastic bag and bring him back up to solid ground.
We put him back where we found him, but the avian moron found his way to the front of the house, where he tried to cross the street. We guided the IQ reject back to the front yard and near his nest, where we assumed he would be safe.
But instead of taking shelter, the little fucker made his way back out and started to get attacked by a couple of cardinals. We realized at that moment he was a bit slow, so we named him Special Ed.
We put Special Ed in a cardboard crate and made him our mascot. Still, instead of thanking us for our generosity, he kept trying to jump out. As you can see, he was not a happy -– or grateful -– baby bird.
We called the Humane Society and they told us to take him to an animal rehabilitation center called Second Chance. A couple of The Princess’ friends drove Special Ed there before he could imprint himself on me any further. Second Chance promised to treat Special Ed, make sure he regains his strength, and then release him to the wild.
Good luck. Special Ed. You’re going to need it.
35 Comments
May 22nd, 2007 at 9:00 am
Too bad he wasn’t meatier. Would’ve made a good snack.
I considered it, but he would have been too gamey.
May 22nd, 2007 at 9:03 am
Special Ed, Mama dropped him on his head.
He’s a little bit special. Just a little bit special.
I’m gonna have that stuck in my head now, thanks.
Wow, that’s the FOURTH poem my friends have written today, on the blog and in e-mail. Poetry must be in the air.
May 22nd, 2007 at 9:11 am
Does everything you have say “Argentina” on it? By the way, Part 2 of the Ninja Mitzvah is up.
I knew someone would say that. Yes, all I wear is Argentina-related clothing. Doesn’t everyone?
Link your post here.
May 22nd, 2007 at 9:29 am
Well, at least we saved this one. The other baby bird died because he fell in another window well. Like I said, he was just too special for this world!
I failed to mention the other baby bird who didn’t make it. We can call him Special Needs.
May 22nd, 2007 at 9:48 am
If you were bbq’ing chicken, I just can’t IMAGINE why this bird was making a run for it….
And, not for nothin’ but I’m with the Ninja…do you have Argentina Underoos or WHAT?!
Argentina Underoos are now on my wish list.
May 22nd, 2007 at 9:52 am
Now he thinks he’s a piece of bread…
Foccaccia?
May 22nd, 2007 at 9:55 am
I hate to remind you, but the paramedic that rescued Baby Jessica from the wound up killing himself, and Baby Jessica grew up to be a strung-out whore.
So when this bird grows up to hang out with the other trouble-maker birds, smoking bird-drugs and having indiscriminate sex with bird-whores, make sure you tell your therapist to get you on the prozac.
Wow, you are a fountain of information. Of course, we all knew Baby Jessica would grow up to be a whore. She just couldn’t get the same attention as when she was younger.
May 22nd, 2007 at 9:55 am
Aw! You’re going to hurt his feelings. How’s Ed going to develop any confidence with your constant jabs at his intelligence?
It’s not my job to instill self-esteem into Special Ed, just to make sure he doesn’t get eaten by a tabby.
May 22nd, 2007 at 9:57 am
… rescued Baby Jessica from the well wound up….
I dont know why it cut out the word well.
We understood you…
May 22nd, 2007 at 10:13 am
Me and birds have been mortal enemies for a long time. I probably would’ve let the cardinals have their way with him.
Those cardinals were vicious and made me think of the famous Hitchcock movie. Nothing like that last-place team from St. Louis.
May 22nd, 2007 at 10:21 am
This will make Jo/I-66’s comments make more sense, since it appears that Arj is unfamiliar. And that’s just wrong.
I’m with you, Jo: all day.
I shall watch it when all my managers leave.
May 22nd, 2007 at 10:31 am
The one who didn’t make it: Special Dead?
Or maybe Darwin?
May 22nd, 2007 at 11:14 am
That bird reminds me of Fred Thompson, for some reason.
Angry and deluded? You’re half right.
May 22nd, 2007 at 11:30 am
Poor little fella! You have a good heart.
It’s the guilt.
May 22nd, 2007 at 11:47 am
Stephen Lynch wrote a song called “Special” that Jo quoted above, about a kid called Special Ed (on the comedy central standup they made him sing “Special Fred”).
Never heard of it…I was probably in Argentina when it came out.
May 22nd, 2007 at 11:48 am
Yep, I’ve got Special Ed in my head too…as for you, AJT…kudos to saving the baby bird but thankfully Special Ed can’t read b/c you have KILLED his self esteem.
…just a little bit special.
I think I might be the only one who doesn’t know this song. You’ll have to sing it to me next time we see each other.
May 22nd, 2007 at 12:01 pm
Ed looks like a baby Robin to me. It still has some of it’s old “fur” that baby birds have, and has not molted completely. I could be wrong though. But probably not.
And how did you know that other bird was Jewish?
Actually, Phil, I think you’re right. The consensus WAS that Ed was a robin because he had so many feathers. I don’t know how everyone knows that.
May 22nd, 2007 at 1:11 pm
Hee hee. Those pictures made me giggle.
Oh, and I dare you to post a picture of yourself in an American Flag/Patriotic Eagle of Horror shirt.
No idea what you’re talking about.
May 22nd, 2007 at 1:26 pm
When I walked out of my house this morning, I had to step over the mutilated bird carcass my fat tabby had deposited on my stoop in his first attempt to provide evidence of his hunting prowess in some years. If Second Chance released Special Ed anywhere near my house, I think we know how his story ended…
What a great present! The only gift I ever got from my ex-roommate’s cat was vomit outside my bedroom door.
May 22nd, 2007 at 1:27 pm
… And I feel completely evil for posting that… To make amends I’ll give the little half-torso a proper burial when I get home from work.
May 22nd, 2007 at 1:46 pm
They made steven lynch change the song to “Special Fred” for his performance on the Comedy Central. I guess they never heard of a thing called THE FIRST AMENDMENT.
May 22nd, 2007 at 2:56 pm
Bones: If the “they” you’re referring to is “Comedy Central,” the First Amendment doesn’t apply. That protects citizens from the federal government making laws censoring what we can say…
You must forgive Bones’ ignorance: he’s a dirty Republican, but I repeat myself.
May 22nd, 2007 at 3:22 pm
Update:
What To Do if You Find a Baby Bird
“I found a baby bird. What should I do?”
You won’t like the answer. The correct response is “Nothing.”
Some baby birds like Killdeer and Mallards are ready to leave the nest within minutes of hatching. Their parents are nearby and will help to protect them. They are already capable of feeding themselves.
Other birds, like American Robins, are altricial and need to stay in the nest for a few weeks as they grow. However, they will often leave the nest and walk along a tree limb before they are fully able to fly. Sometimes they fall to the ground. Leave them alone. The parents will find them and feed them.
If you happen to find a very young bird and the nest is easy to reach, it is OK to return the bird to the nest. Touching the baby bird will not make the mother abandon it because of a human scent. Most birds in your yard have a lousy sense of smell. What you should be aware of is the trail you are leaving for other predators. Your scent may very well lead snakes, raccoons, opossums and other hungry animals directly to the bird’s nest.
If you are worried about a cat hurting the baby bird, do something about the cat — not the bird!
An important law is the law of nature. Not every bird that hatches will survive. Other living things consume dead baby birds to survive. You may as well accept it. The life expectancy of a small songbird born in your yard is 10 months!
http://www.birding.com/babybird.asp
May 22nd, 2007 at 3:26 pm
They were massively retarded. I hate a-rod.
May 22nd, 2007 at 4:36 pm
But it doesn’t say what to do if the bird is injured! I mean, surely you’re allowed to help it, then, right? I would have had felt guilty for the rest of my life if we had let the little guy get killed by cardinals in our front yard!
You were pretty close to being traumatized.
May 22nd, 2007 at 5:28 pm
I think the lesson in all of this is that cardinals are evil, evil bastards.
I always suspected they were. Now I have proof.
May 22nd, 2007 at 5:30 pm
I’ve been known to take baby birds to the shelter in the middle of the night in a ball gown. Oh yes. The contents of the handbag were emptied to provide a warm place for the bird.
Did they bribe you with ice cream?
May 22nd, 2007 at 11:13 pm
Belle-
Oh no you di’nt.
Actually, I should thank you. I must have been absent the day we covered that in Con Law. And so much for the ironical first amendment/journalist jokes. Oh well, back to the drawing board.
May 23rd, 2007 at 7:10 am
Lmao that is fucking cute. I love your captions of the pictures. Classic.
This reminds me of my mom- always bringing in stray wild animals that the cats had half- killed and trying to rehabilitate them. Of course they always died.
Congrats to the Princess on her graduation!
The rehabilitation impulse is the hardest part. Chopping their heads off or cooking them on the grill is the easier option.
May 23rd, 2007 at 8:10 am
I once found a dying bird in front garden back in Brisbane when I was seven. It was full grown, and had obviously fallen on hard times. I, like Arjewtino, tried to nurse it back to health - mostly trying to force-feed it water and worms that I had dug up out of the back garden. When I realized that it wasn’t going to make it and was in obvious pain, I made the decision to ends it life. In a fairly bold and retrospectively mature decision for a seven year old, I chopped its head off with a shovel to end its misery….I will always remember that day…
Mostly for the fact that when I chopped its head off, it laid three plastic eggs - inside each of which was a gummy worm.
Magical and tasty.
Why do you not have a blog?
May 23rd, 2007 at 10:22 am
I dunno what’s funnier, your text about this or the visual in my head playing out this whole scenario. Either way, I laughed so hard I snorted. Which is always great when your office is a room you share with 2 other people.
May 23rd, 2007 at 4:25 pm
wow, living in burbs must be rubbing off on you. You’re a TP hippie now!
FYI - Great seeing you on the bus!
I know, it’s kind of disturbing.
Great to meet you, too!
May 23rd, 2007 at 8:30 pm
¡Madre mía! I haven’t laughed so hard in a while. I love the last pic with the caption.
Ese pajarito estaba tan enojado.
May 24th, 2007 at 8:01 am
Good for you for thwarting his suicide attempts. I point for you in the good karma box. The photos were a big plus!
That brings my karma box total to -34. I’m coming back!
May 31st, 2007 at 3:37 pm
[…] Strangely, I only rank 20th for the search “The very special story of Special Ed”, even though it was only the title of my original blog post. […]
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