Y'know, my plan today was simple.

Grab breakfast, get gas, pick up some fruit for the week, go kayaking, finish necessary paperwork.

I wasn't even going to attempt to clean my apartment. Just get the above list done.

My plans have been derailed, however, thanks to a male Chestnut Flanked White Zebra Finch.

See, as I was walking into the grocery store, I see the manager moving this overturned shopping basket with his feet, with two bag boys trailing behind him.

One of the bag boys is saying, "Dude! Be careful!"

The other bag boy is saying, "Dude! I've never seen a bird like that before."

I trundle on over and what do my eyes see?

A finch. A terrified finch.

Thinks I, "Oh, shit."

Out loud I said, "Wait! It's a finch!"

Manager stops and gives me a beady-eyed glare while the bag boys are all, "Cool! You know what it is! Ummm, what are we supposed to do with it?"

The manager figures it should be let go to fly free. I kind of get in his face and tell him that there is no way this is a wild bird. It was someone's pet, which may have escaped or may have been let go. Either way, it's a dead bird if he just lets it go.

I look around and realize that we've now drawn a crowd, some of them looking like tough ol' truck drivers. They all look pretty stricken that this little bird will die if it flies free. Which was kind of sweet, really. These tough 40-ish guys with their tough 40-ish women are worried about a bird that doesn't even tip the scale at an ounce.

What happens next I can only blame on peer pressure, really, because the last thing I need is a second bird, especially when I know George the Amazing Lovebird will be positively, absolutely pissed that I brought another bird into his territory.

( This is getting a little long, so the rest of the story is under the cut... )

I've been bad about posting these, I know. I put that down to the vague depression I've been suffering for the past few years.

In any case, I got a runner-up award from the SunnyD Memorial Awards!

See the pretty for my Xander-centric story The Monsters Are Due in Washington Square:




Now I really, really have to go to PetCo to get That Lucky Little Shit, aka Lucky, aka Finchy-Face his new gear... (Story about that fiasco can be found here.)

The Saga Continues...

You may recall that earlier today I rescued a finch from a fatal release into the wild.

The Saga of "That Lucky Little Shit", aka "Lucky", aka Finchy-Face is now continued.


I head my fuzzybutt down to Petco to get finch supplies...and am faced with a Petco that doesn't sell finches, doesn't know much about finches, and doesn't really have finch supplies. I am thus forwarded to another Petco a few towns over.

*grumble grumble grumble*

At least at this second Petco the person who helps me breeds finches and is able to help me pull together a "finch care package".

Until we got to the cage.

Now, the thing about finches is that they are leeeeeeeetle birds who — unlike birds in the parrot family like my beloved George the Amazing Lovebird — only fly around. They don't play with toys. They don't play with people. They don't help you do chores by sitting on your shoulder and chirping "directions" loudly in your ear.

Finches just fly around in their cage and make peeping sounds.

In short, not a bird after my own heart.

But even though they are leeeeeeeetle birds, they need huuuuuuuuuge cages. Because of the aforementioned "all they do is fly around and make peeping noises" part of the program.

Herein is the problem:

1) My apartment is barely big enough for this cage.

2) If I set up the cage, there's only one place to put it: George's spot.

Yeaaaaaahhhhh...not going to happen.

George has been my buddy for 12 years.

"That Lucky Little Shit", aka "Lucky", aka Finchy-Face would already be hawk chow (we have a lot of hawks) if I hadn't happened along.

Upon seeing the size of the cage, I flashed my most helpless grin at the salesperson and said, "You want a bird?"

Unfortunately, she didn't breed zebra finches and wasn't fond of them as a species. However, she had names of people who might take him.

So, I managed to get the name of a finch breeder who might be interested and the name of a local, new-to-the-area avian vet.

I've been informed that I can keep "That Lucky Little Shit", aka "Lucky", aka Finchy-Face in George's travel cage for a week or two without stressing him out too much, and I can return the massive finch cage as long as I don't open the box.

So, for the next week I'm going to make a couple of calls and have the 'rents make a couple of calls. Hopefully, I'll be able to set up the bird in a new home and spare George the Birdy Attack of seeing a cage bigger than his evict him from his spot.

In any case, "That Lucky Little Shit", aka "Lucky", aka Finchy-Face now has proper dishes for water and actual finch food, a little nest to sleep in, and a shred toy.

And George now has an Evil Menace he can glare at until it goes away.

Wish me luck on finding a home for the finch. Something tells me I'm going to need it, because the long-term solution is not staying with me.

fucking people letting loose their fucking pets like it's fucking nothing I need to fucking smack someone

I figured I better take pictures of Finchy-Face so I could text them to potential adoptive homes.

And then George the Amazing Lovebird got frown-y face at me, so there's a few pictures of my buddy, too.

( Photos of That Lucky Little Shit, aka Lucky, aka Finchy-Face )

In the meantime, George would like a few words with everyone out in Journal-Land.

And, yes, these pictures were actually taken in order, which makes it even funnier.

( George has something to say... )

Lovebirds are so weird.