REASON TO HATE SPARROWS #3,987

What if I Hadn’t Been Home?

After the sparrow incident, we should have that embroidered and hanging over our couch instead of

Home, Sweet Home.

Sparrows will build a nest anywhere. (see entry for February 22,  cow skeleton cavities) The nest is not the problem. The sparrow itself is not the problem. It’s their calling cards that pile up on cars, on deck chairs, on fences. That is the only problem. That's what I thought until one day when I went out the door between our house and garage.

Not sure what made me glance up at our perfectly boring garage rafters; there was no movement or sound or odor to draw my attention. What I saw was puzzling, then interesting, then alarming. The garage door opener light-box was right above my truck cab, and there were tiny white plumes wafting up from it. I moved closer. It was smoke.

I climbed onto the truck and looked more closely. There was a small hole in the metal box. I looked in and saw grass, threads, and leaves, a sparrow nest packed so tightly I couldn’t pull one blade of grass out. The hole was just a little wider than my finger so it was tough to get a good grip.

 

I’m willing to share my space with little creatures, but this space had an overheated light bulb in it, and it would not go out. I know they rigged it that way; they’ve done worse, believe me. The dry nest was jammed against the light bulb, and it was smoldering. The box was about to burst into flames.

I ran for a screwdriver and tried to open the box. The screws did not budge. I tried frantically to remove the nest bit-by-piece, but it was taking far too long. Now tiny orange flames appeared and were threatening to engulf the nest, the garage, the house and surrounding countryside. Our house would be gone by the time fire department volunteers arrived at the station in town.

I fumbled in my nursing bag and found a hemostat, and yes, that is the first thing that occurred to me even though there was a fire extinguisher just inside the door. Standing on the roof of the truck and using the hemostat, I  jerked out a few strands of the nest at a time, all the while contemplating whether I’d die by electrocution or flames. And impressive flames were what I had by the time I had the entire nest removed. 

I sat on my truck cab and assessed the day so far.

What if I hadn’t been home?

What if I hadn’t gone out that door?

What if I hadn’t looked up?

What if this had happened during one of the other 86,399 seconds that ticked by on that day?

At least if I were electrocuted from sticking a hemostat into a garage door opener, I would have reached one of my life goals: to die in such a way that leaves my friends laughing.