When I spotted this adroitly made little nest with a single white egg resting in the center, I just had to get a closer look. It was right outside the window sill at work, just asking to be broken- I mean admired.
I wondered where the parent birdies were and if they had rejected their shell-encased baby or not. Either way, I had to touch it. I had never held a real bird's egg before...and there's something about the look of eggs (esp. tiny, cute ones) that is just irresistible.
I know, I know, the mother won't touch that egg now! Shame on me. But they can always make more right? And in defense of my curiosity, why wasn't there a bird sitting on it to help it hatch? If there was no bird's butt there keeping it warm, I can only conclude that this bird-child was the result of a one-night-stand...an unwanted pregnancy!
After feeling the weight of the egg in my hand, putting my ear against it listening for--who knows what, and resisting the urge to crack the sucker open to satisfy my curiosity for it's gory contents--I put the egg back in its nest.
Well, the mother must have sensed the egg was disturbed and wasn't too happy about it. She made a beeline for my hand and pecked it until I begged her for mercy.
Naw, this is the result of me breaking a glass shelf and hastily trying to move the broken piece aside.
But I can't help but make a connection between the two events. I upset an egg and injure myself (stupidly) hours later! Cosmic punishment? Or is the simple lesson here: don't carelessly pick up a large piece of broken glass sans gloves.
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