Seven

Seven. Seven is the number of birds that have, er, kicked the bucket by flying into our sliding glass door these past two weeks. The story goes like this:

Bird eats berries off the tree in front of our deck. Bird likes berries. Bird gets all his buddies to come eat the berries too. Birds get excited. Maybe a little drunk. Nobody assigned a designated driver. They all decide to leave at once. Some fly left, some fly right, some fly up, some fly down, and some choose to fly right into our door.

A few of them are able to flap and flop themselves back to life (nature's defibrillator), but seven, alas, didn't make it. They become an easy treat for a neighborhood cat. Not our cat. Some other cat.

Speaking of cats, it makes me think about the Mexican cat my brother and I found when we were living in El Paso. Poor lil' girl. She swam across the Rio just for the chance at a better life. I sure hope we gave that to her. Sigh.