The Shoebox…

Chapter 1

July 6, 2003

It was a beautiful Sunday morning. I’d just stepped out of an AA meeting. It was one of my favorites. In five more days I’d probably be the featured speaker at my home-group and pick up my eight year anniversary medallion.

Although sobriety is a big part of my new life, it’s not what this story is about.

I was standing on the bottom step talking to someone from the meeting when another woman I’d never seen before rushes up to me and shoves a brown shoebox into my hands. My sponsor “Jen” was with her.

“I told her you’d raised a wild robin for ten years and would know what to do!” she said.

What’re these? Shoes? Are they even my size, and who said I needed a new pair? And what’s this got to do with a robin?  (Said the cloud bubble over my head in rapid fire inquiry.)

By now a small crowd from the meeting are starting to take interest and gather around.

We heard sounds from the box. The cartoon bubble took over my brain. OK, maybe a pair of sneakers trying to make an escape?

I raised the lid. Three bright, yellow/orange, maws erupted in unison and the small crowd closed in for a better look.

(Stock photo taken from internet)

The birds were of an as yet undetermined species. Well, at least unknown to me and the other onlookers too as nobody piped up to identify them—or offer to take them.

The woman who had thrust the container onto me had quickly disappeared.

My sponsor simply told me, “You’ll know what to do.”

I’d like to give them back! said the voice in the bubble cloud.

I do love birds, but wished I’d gotten to talk to the mystery woman to find out where she’d found them.

Usually baby birds that are found on the ground, have for some reason, either fallen out of, or been pushed from the nest. In such cases, the parents of the babies will continue to feed and care for them there, even though their chances of survival may be fairly low because of roaming or flying predators, and yes, even humans who don’t know any better.

Everyone had pretty much dispersed by now, and Jen was walking away too.

I looked in the box again. The trio of naked baby birds were sleeping now. I scrutinized them a little more closely. No parasites crawling on them. That’s a good thing. There weren’t any feathers to hide in anyway. Just little, innocent, sentient beings, that didn’t have a clue. I gently lowered the lid.

Well guys, looks like you’re coming home with me.

A New Home

(and a bit of digress…)

I never gave it a thought as to what Neil would have to say, about the babies. we’d been together for five years by that time, and married for not quite four of them. He was also husband number four. In the beginning he would accompany me to quite a few AA meetings to show his support. He said he also “got something” out of them.

I don’t know what I was thinking getting married again. I  met him at about three years into my sobriety. He’d never been drunk a day in his life. He also didn’t smoke cigarettes. Oh, he’d tried pot for a bit in his early years, but stopped after the first of his two children were born. He was just getting quit of a twenty-two year relationship when we met.

After my 30 years of looking at life through an altered mind, and wending my way through three marriages on the bell curve where alcohol was the main focus of commonality, Neil and I were still in the getting to know one another phase. He pretty much went along with just about anything I suggested or wanted to do. He was either very easy going or ‘a real smart man’. Perhaps he was just allowing our relationship to evolve and unfold as I tried to navigate my way through this new way of life—sober. He’d said he’d been waiting for me all his life. (Awe, don’t get too gushy). That only told me he either had a hell of a lot of patience, or still didn’t really know what he was getting himself into.

Yet, Neil was a refreshing human with no vices. He didn’t even curse that much. If anything, he may be a bit of a workaholic, but how bad can that be, I thought at the time. I was working right alongside him. We had a small two person carpentry and painting biz together by the second year of our marriage.

I got home, put the box on the kitchen counter, and set about making up baby-bird pablum.

We had two well behaved cats, “Momo” and “Loki”, who were now wending their way in and around my feet. They thought I was going to feed them as I had out their kibble. I would use some of it for the base of the mash and I had stopped on my way home to pick up organic unsweetened applesauce. I would boil some water, pour a bit of it over a cup of the cat food—dry dog kibble would work also—stir to a somewhat thickish consistency, and then add about a tablespoon of the applesauce, mix all real well, and voila!

I already had an eye dropper from an old four ounce tincture bottle. Feeding consists of scooping up some of the mash onto the outside of the dropper. When you wave this over the baby birds heads, it simulates the mother bird waving a caterpillar or worm above them. They in turn open their beaks wide and she pushes the food down into their mouths as they simultaneously reach up and grab onto it. Then poof, it disappears down the gullet and it’s onto the next open maw.

I had learned what to feed them from rescuing a crippled baby robin many years prior. (A whole nuther story for a whole nuther time!) But it was that story I had told my sponsor about not long after we’d met, which in turn led to the above afore mentioned conditions I now found myself in. Could I have refused to take them? Yes. We always have choices. But this happened so fast, ‘I barely had time to grasp the tree root before going over the edge.’

Neil walked into the kitchen and looked into the shoebox which now had the lid sitting underneath it. The baby birds erupted into wide maw anticipation as he pointed his finger at them with a question mark over his head.

“Don’t do that,” I said, “I haven’t got their food ready yet.”

Then I told him, “…a funny thing happened after the meeting this morning…”

_______________________________________________

This is the first chapter of a story I journaled about in the early part of 2003. If you’d like to read through to the end, stay tuned for more weekly installments. I will do my best to keep them consistent for posting mid week.

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