This just isn't the week for birds on my street.

My neighbor called this morning to tell me we have an injured bird on our side of the fence (looks to be a pigeon). It can walk, but hasn't flown off when she's come close and thinks it has a broken wing. Being the dutiful lover of animals, I called the Denver Animal Control and they're coming out to get the bird.

Earlier in the week, we had a huge rainstorm - water flowing down the street like a river. My neighbor told me today her husband had gone out that afternoon, only to find a momma duck and 5 dead babies in a puddle. They figured the water came up and ... well .. you get the idea. When he went over to retrieve said dead duckies, the momma duck got up and had four live ones under her. She kept pecking at the ones not alive. My neighbor kept saying, "Oh man!! That duck has to be racked with guilt!" Her husband said, "K, it's just a DUCK!".

This got me thinking about how my dad would likely be rolling in his grave right now. I grew up on a farm, I know all about the circle of life and how some calves make it and others don't, no matter what you do. I once saved a cow from slaughter because it was nudging me in the side. It's not like I don't eat meat and can't have a steak - I do often. Dad would take me out and teach me how to shoot a gun, and once made me shoot a sick badger in our yard. I must have missed - because I remember screaming into the house that dad was a cold-blooded killer. (in retrospect, it was a good lesson to learn - but I proved once again, I wasn't an Annie Oakley).

So, here I sit, waiting for the game warden to come up and laugh at me for saving a little ol' pigeon ...

Sidenote: I dated a warden once. He was damn cute too, but insisted he wanted to have sex with night vision goggles. Here's hoping it's not the same warden coming today that I knew then. But, knowing my luck (or lack thereof), it will be ...