“After one particularly bad (September 2018) thunderstorm, I found a fledgling – a bronze-winged mannikin finch – barely a month old, on the ground,” Bourne-Taylor said. “He was abandoned by his flock, his nest blown from the mango tree. His eyes were tightly shut and he was shuddering, too young to survive alone. He was the size of my little finger, with feathers the color of rich tea biscuits, inky eyes and a small bill like a pencil lead.”
The little finch and human quickly bonded.
The next day, he woke with his mouth open and a shrill hunger call. I fed him termites and, instinctively, chirped at him,” Bourne-Taylor said. “He chirped back and clambered into my hand, digging in his beak and head, then fell asleep in my palm. As far as he was concerned, I was his mother. For the next 84 days, the fledgling lived on me.”
The finch finally grew strong enough by the end of the year to join his flock.
When she returned from Christmas break, in January, “I’d watch out for him when the finches flew past,” Bourne-Taylor said. “Every now and then, one would hang back, on a branch, and stare at me. I still cry when I think of him.
She would wash her hair when the bird was out for the day. Don't screw up touching; Ogre.As touching as the story is, the hygiene aspects gross me out.
She must get her AM jolt by sticking a metal knife into her toaster while it's still on.
This is Marsh Blackburn
This is Marsh Blackburn
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