In other news, after a week of practice at Cherry Beach, Luke can now take his feet off the bottom of the lake like a real live dog. He favours a very splashy front crawl, but is learning the evolution of the dog paddle has something to do with the evolution of things that float and the ability to breathe while fetching them. Last night we didn't once need to employ a Lab to rescue a ball (they invariably launch their missions with a cannonball entry that soaks humiliated dog and owner), although he still whimpers softly on return trips as though he's saying, "I can't believe ... you threw it ... so goddamn far..."
Update: The bird is a baby robin, now perky and chirpy and inside a large open box on my stoop, out of Tiggy's view and waiting for its mother, who is hovering nearby. Animal Services says she'll put the baby on its back and fly it home. Wish I could do the same for some friends who are much too far away from their loved ones and have been feeling very lonely and very stressed (minus the part where, if the baby is still there in 24 hours, Animal Services puts it to sleep).
Update 2: I moved the box under a tree. This attracted some attention from robins, so I decided to tip the little guy onto the lawn. Yeah, that sucker was out of the yard, across the road, and under my neighbour's deck in about 30 seconds flat. Before he dove under the latticework, he turned and gave me a look that was all, "Screw you and your no-worm cardboard hotel you pale, sweaty, featherless piece of crap. Nature HATES you."
