Tweeter birdy.
When I was in my late teens my step-dad found a fledgling crow in the garden -- it looked as if it had tried to fly out of the nest, or had fallen, but didn't have quite enough feathers to fly properly.
Now, my step-dad was a proper twat and generally a cunt to people but he had a soft spot for animals. So, he decided that we would raise the bird until it had grown enough feathers that it could fly off.
Every day my brothers and I would catch worms and insects to feed our little pet and, as his feathers grew, we'd take him outside and let him glide from our fingers to the ground.
After a couple of weeks of this he started to get stronger and would fly around the garden a little, albeit getting slowly closer to the ground.
A week or so after that, we were beginning to get ready for his inevitable flight out of our lives. As we fed him for, possibly, the last time there was a commotion in the back garden so we put him down to look out of the door. Quick as a flash, one of the cats pushed his way from inside the house into the utility room we were in and, in one loud crunch, grabbed our little friend and managed to squirt blood three or four feet across the floor.
I still like cats though.
(Me, I'm not... in any way intoxicated, Mon 4 Feb 2013, 14:55, Reply)