There’s nothing like having a new mouth to feed around the old home front. At our residence, the newest is a baby bird that fell from its nest, much to its mother’s dismay.

We tried! We really did try putting it back in its nest, only to watch it leap back to the ground. Being really honest, my wife had me laddering this rascal into a hump-teen dozen nests trying to find one it would stay in. All the while being dive-bombed by an angry mom who didn’t understand.

Finally, my wife gave in. “Okay, put it back one more time and if it jumps back down, we’ll try to raise it.” I did… it did… we are… “Happy Feather’s Day!”

My wife is convinced that the mother convinced and continues to convince the baby to become ground-born… even though it has yet to grow feathers on its wings. Why? Because she couldn’t find enough bugs to satisfy this little booger. Feed him… he’s content… sixty seconds later… screech!… feed him… he’s content… sixty seconds later… screech!… [to infinity and beyond]

Not only that, if you don’t respond fast enough, he escapes and off through the house he goes screeching and… pooping! …so that he can screech some more of course.

Okay! There has to be a lesson in here somewhere. Maybe… this is what Peter spoke of when he said, “Like newborn infants, long for the pure spiritual milk, that by it you may grow unto salvation (1 Peter 2:2).”

Yeah… I know. The duties of feather-hood. Did I happen to say, “Happy Fathers Day!”

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