It's Official: I'm a Corporate Asshole

Yesterday morning, while running late for work as usual, I rushed my dog outside so he could use his version of the facilities, and I noticed after a few moments that he was spending an unusual amount of time sniffing a particular spot. When I went over to see what he had found, there, just inches from becoming my dog's breakfast, was the tiniest, most adorable baby bird that I've ever seen. I mean, I hate birds. They're loud and they poop everywhere and the domesticated ones that my friends own always try to bite my finger off when I attempt to hold them. But this bird was the cuteness equivalent of a bundle of baby kittens. (Yes, I realize that saying "baby kittens" is redundant. I'm just trying to emphasize my point. Shut up and keep reading.)

Much to his chagrin, I immediately yanked Kuzco away and crouched down so I could determine whether or not the poor thing was still alive. When I got too close, Gilbert opened his eyes, squawked, and hopped a few inches, scaring the crap out of me, and sending Kuzco into a bark-filled frenzy that would have made Cujo jealous.

Gilbert, the most adorable bird that ever lived.

I should probably note here that I immediately named the bird Gilbert because, well, he looked like a Gilbert to me. I'm also not entirely sure that it was a he, but that's not the point of this story, so let's just roll with it. 

Moving on.

In order to keep Kuzco from committing a murder that I was sure both he and I would regret, I dragged him inside, put him in my bedroom, and grabbed a bunch of paper towels. I don't really know what I was thinking in regards to the whole paper towel thing. I just knew that I wanted to pick Gilbert up off of the ground so he didn't get chopped up by a lawnmower, and I didn't have any gloves, and I knew I couldn't pick him up with my bare hands a) because of diseases and b) because then my scent would be on him and his family wouldn't come back and find him and have a joyful, tear-filled reunion while simultaneously thanking Jesus for the kind, beautiful woman who had saved him from almost-certain death. So, paper towels in hand, I ventured back outside and froze when I noticed, immediately to my left, my neighbor's asshole cat getting ready to pounce. 

"Oh hell no," I said, out loud, to the cat. "Get the hell out of here." The cat didn't respond, but I could tell that he was pissed at me for interrupting him and still contemplating ignoring my threat and going after the bird anyway, so I growled at him for good measure. He ran away at that point. I don't want anyone to think too badly of the cat, though. I'm sure any human being would have responded in the same way if I had growled at them. 

After that, what ensued was a good five minutes of my attempting to pick up the tiny little bird in the paper towels without crushing his tiny, fragile little bones. Every time I got close to getting him bundled enough so I could pick him up, Gilbert would squawk, spread his tiny little wings and hop a few inches away, at which point the entire process would start all over again. When I finally had him snuggled in, he closed his eyes, seemingly content - most likely because it was way warmer in the paper towels that I was holding in my hands than it was outside. I mean, 50 degrees in August is kind of ridiculous. 

Once Gilbert was safely in my possession, I realized with dismay that I had no fucking idea what I was going to do with him. I mean, bringing him inside and putting him in a shoebox wasn't going to happen - even though I did have a brief daydream where I raised him as one of my own and he loved me and brought me worms and then flew off into the sunset one day to join his own kind but came back and visited me every once in a while. But realistically, I knew I couldn't take care of him. I couldn't just put him back on the ground. There was no nest in sight that I could put him back into. And I wasn't going to call the humane society, because they would have probably laughed at me and lectured me on natural selection, and besides, at that point, I was really, super, inexcusably late for work.

Let's take a moment to reflect on that last sentence. 

I had a tiny, fragile little life in my hands, and I decided to just put him up on a tree branch and hope for the best BECAUSE I WAS ALREADY SUPER LATE FOR WORK. 

And that is when I realized that I had finally, truly and officially, become a corporate asshole.

So I put Gilbert up in the nook of a tree branch, snapped a few pictures with my snazzy new camera, grabbed my stuff, and headed off to work. He was gone when I got home. I'm guessing the cat ate him, but I'm trying not to think about it. I told my boss yesterday, every chance that I got, that I had killed a baby bird for her, and that it had better reflect positively in terms of my dedication to my team and this company in my review.

Gilbert, wherever you are, I hope you enjoy(ed) your life, however brief it was or may be. 

Ginger Jameson out.