This afternoon I was in my back yard with my friend Chris Prescott and I saw a little ruby-throated hummingbird on the ground, sprawled out. At first I thought it was dead, then I saw the super-fast breaths it was taking to match its heart. Its alive! Was its wing broken? Sick? Hmmm...no...I think it fell out of their nest and couldn't quite fly yet. Gently cupping it up in my hand, and just letting his head (I say he because I felt it was a he.) pop out, he opened his beak wanting to be fed. Uh-oh. Kids. A little nest was made for Humphrey. Yes...Humphrey the Hummingbird. I quickly tippy-tapped on my phone for the animal hospital, called them and they said to bring him in and the Animal Wildlife people would come and pick him up and take care of him. Awesome!
Driving to the animal hospital I was sent back in time to when I was 12 years old when I had my first BB gun. The very first and last thing I ever shot with it was a little ruby-breasted hummingbird. It was the most terrible thing I had ever felt at that time. I have always regretted that day and have never forgot that bird. Flashing back to now, sitting in the passenger seat was little Humphrey...I looked in his eyes. I was gonna save him... We made it to the hospital, they immediately took him and fed him. Little hummingbirds need to be fed every 20 minutes apparently. Whew! I filled out some paper work, so they could bring him back to my yard when he was healthy and old enough. I had 14 dollars in my pocket and donated it the hospital. I told Humphrey goodbye and I'll see him in time and he can come back to live in my New Zealand tea tree when he's ready.
Driving home I hoped for a little redemption/atonement, maybe not complete, but perhaps some.
p.s. I did not take a photo of Humphrey because he was naked and he was embarrassed by the really big balls he possessed, and he didn't want to have to deal with explaining it to his friends on Facebook/Twitter, much less those dreaded Google searches.