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There is a baby/fledgling bird in my house. Sigh.

DudeJeans found a injured (he thought at the time) baby bird on the highway last night while biking home (there is a summit pass near us that requires bike travelers to get on the highway — it's really stupid, but that's a topic for another post). He brought it home. I yelled at him for a solid twenty minutes, because I am very hands-off about these things (and most of the time, if the bird is going to be okay, the parents are going to be keeping track of it and feeding it anyway). But, you know, damage done, etc. I made him a little toilet paper nest in a shoebox and have been feeding him softened dog food. Given that he's super active, eating and pooping a lot, and perching and trying to fly, I think he probably was just stunned and would have been fine. But now he's here, and there are no wildlife rehabbers I know of in my town. Sigh.

I'm checking with my bird-genius friends to see what to do. He's pretty close to being independent, methinks, but still it's always risky to try to keep a bird alive in a house. Argh.


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