On Baby Bird Wings--Didn't Raise You Up

You know I love birds. Love! Here's a picture of me holding a little bird, giving it a kiss before setting it free. (I'm not squeezing it, although I look like I have a death grip on the poor little fella. I was gentle as can be. I swear on my bird brain.) Holding that little banded bird before it zipped off into the heavens was a dream come true. I adore our little feathered friends. So imagine how awful, sick-to-my-stomach that.....

....I killed a baby bird this week.

Actually, I might be more likely to be found guilty of second degree murder of a baby bird. I'm not sure.

I was peeking in the birdhouse in the front yard and the little baby bird was staring back at me, beak poked out of the birdhouse hole. I got really close. Really, really close. Ridiculously-what-are-you-doing close. I wanted to see what kind of bird it was. After I decided I didn't know (and, after getting yelled at by one of its parents), I stepped away and went back to gardening. I turned around to say something and....

....Dear god, is that the little baby bird on the ground??!! OMG! I dare not go closer... but, something was flopping around the ground, stirring up the dirt as it spun and flopped around. I was mortified. Is that the baby bird? Naw, that can't be the bird.... 
 
My brain had a complete, immediate 30 second conversation with itself:
ME:  OMG, OMG, OMG! Is that my bird? Do I go and put it back in the birdhouse? OMG!
BRAIN: No, leave it alone. You're not even sure that's the baby bird.
ME: But, the little bird isn't peeking out of the birdhouse anymore.
BRAIN: Go garden. Mind your own business. I'm not even sure that is a BIRD. Are you sure that's not the toad?
ME: Can't I just put it back in the birdhouse? It's not the toad!
BRAIN: Oh, for Pete's sake. It's not your baby bird.

I went to the back yard to get the lawn bag and bring it to the front. When I came back....

....the baby bird was gone! I looked around but there was no sign of the little feathered friend.
I soothed my soul by telling myself it must've been big enough to fly away.... or, it was our toad and it had hopped away.

The wife, who had been gone on her annual "Family Tour of the Cheddarlands" for the week, stomped on that theory the very first hour she was back:

"There's a dead baby bird in the front yard."

My heart was crushed. I was MORTIFIED. I was at least an accomplice to murder. I apologized profusely to the Universe, the bird's parents, the bird itself. In a sign of penance, I promised not to peek in any more birdhouses.

I also cleaned the bird bath, just for good measure.

As means of distracting myself from my murderous ways, I jumped on Book de la Face. That didn't help one iota; in fact, it made me feel that much worse. The political hate, the distorted hostility, the general loathing for those who support a specific candidate was more than my poor little bird-brain can handle.

Social media and 24 hour news has RUINED the presidential race. Destroyed. It doesn't matter if the facts posted are true or not--if it's on Facebook, it must be true--right?

Let's face it--during this presidential campaign, I won't be able to hide friends fast enough. I'm equal opportunity--it doesn't matter your political allegiance... if you are spewing hate or ridiculously tainted data, you're going behind the scenes until the inauguration. Hiding people will help me stay out of the stupidity. I don't want to leave Facebook because I love the funny pictures, the make-me-laugh videos, the silly memes, the keeping-me-in-the-loop posts. Hide, hide, hide.

This one-minute drawing is a reminder to me, from me: MUST.NOT.TALK.POLITICS. It will be very hard but I shall persevere. The quick sketch screams a reminder to rise above the hate and stupidity fueled by social media and biased news feeds. I may have to get duct tape to keep my mouth shut but I'll do what is necessary. Heck, I best use duct tape to hang the photo somewhere I can see it at all times.....

....maybe I should hang it on the bird house. I'll be too sullen to respond to political banter when oozing with grief and guilt.

RIP, little bird. Adios, postings of hate. I ask forgiveness and understanding. May we all rise up on baby bird wings.