Doctor Doolittle: Alive and Well in Japan.

I know my good friend Withering will laugh her way into a colostomy bag over this, it is Doctor Doolittle central over here. The now, happily and safely cooped chicken is attracting a lot of attention from the neighbours, who insist we keep it and that cock -a- doodle -dooing every morning would not bother them a jot. The neighbours saying this though are the more elderly folk who are up for their morning group excerise session at dawns first crack anyway.
The lady across the street with the two month old baby has not said anything along those lines.
Even my previously psycho neighbour came over with a sunshield to put over the top of the coop and gave us a bag of bird seed she happened to have to hand.
Then the lady from up the road popped in to ask if she could see it, as she was here Kev came home with an injured sparrow, apparently they had found a nest and the mother was dead in it and the little one can’t fly properly.
It was squeak squeak squeaking, neighbour lady says that particular squeak indicates hunger and we need to feed it. Former psycho neighbour dashes home and comes back with a large syringe, the other lady gets on her mobile and summons her daughter who arrives with her two small children, some tofu and a bowl of scrambled eggs.
Tommy Steele should be here any minute now.
Together they fed injured sparrow, it was all quite a moving sight and I completely forgot the spaghetti on the stove.
Kev and Jim took over the feeding, one holding bird and syringe, the other opening tiny beak, togetherness and co-operation, how my heart sang.
Neighbour lady produced a bird cage we could have until it gets well, a water tray was dug up from the debris that litters my garden, fed, watered and happy the baby bird could rest.
A community pulling together to save an injured sparrow, wonder if this’ll get us on Oprah?

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