Once upon a time, there was this
girl woman. She was a disorganized, procrastinating, train-wreck of a human being, but otherwise generally likable (unless you didn’t like her). She loved coffee, and tortilla chips with salsa, and fitting into her jeans (although at the time of our story, she did not fit into her jeans). She liked telling stories, but doubted her ability to do it well. Sometimes this doubt kept her from telling stories. Sometimes she bucked up and did it anyway.
Our story really begins with the day she did that. The bucking-up. On that day she bucked up and wrote down this little story.
That was the 18th of June, which just so happens to be two weeks ago today.
The story included this photo:
And that, my friends, was how it all began.
The very next day, this happened:
She shared the happy news on Facebook. There was much joy and great celebration!
The next day, the
girl woman continued her habit of opening the door, slipping out, and snapping a quick shot before rushing behind the safety of the door, all the while thinking of Audrey Hepburn.
Leaning against the closed door, she looked at the photo. Something strange had happened in the night.
The happy little nest had become a den of iniquity. Or a science fiction movie set. Facebook was abuzz, trying to figure out the mystery. Was it a pterodactyl egg? Was it a cow egg? Was someone messing with her mind?? The
girl woman and her Facebook people held their collective breath and waited for the next day’s photo.
What would happen? Would the day bring a purple egg? A striped egg? A velociraptor egg?
Facebook was enthralled. Was this a genetic mutation or a mutant takeover? So great was the excitement (notably, the majority of the excitement came from a safe distance), that our intrepid photographer braved snapping a midday picture.
The pterodactyl egg had moved! But eggs can’t move! This was looking more and more like a science fiction movie set, or possibly a cruel joke. Despite her growing apprehension, our heroine steeled herself and set up camp on the curb. She needed to know who or what exactly was the mother of the mismatched eggs.
She was a shady character, to be sure. What kind of bird can outmaneuver the skills of so fine a photographer? Without real answers, our brave heroine was left with no choice but to…leave town. All week long, from the safety of the west coast, she wondered about that speckled egg. Google had been uncharacteristically unhelpful, unable to pinpoint even an approximation of the gestation period for a pterodactyl egg. She hadn’t the slightest clue what she was up against here. Should she have warned her neighbors? Called the National Guard?
She held her breath.
And got a pedicure.
And ate her body weight in freshly picked raspberries.
And bungee jumped
And when she got home, instead of Jurassic Park, she found this:
The pterodactyl egg had grown! But eggs don’t grow! (Um, eggs don’t grow, right?) This could not be her husband messing with her (as she had suspected all along). This was downright freaky.
The next morning, she found this:
At which point someone on Facebook suggested that the pterodactyl egg might actually be the egg of a cowbird (for real, there are cowbirds). The thread disintegrated from there. There was “brood parasitism” and Decepticons(!) and the not-so veiled suggestion that Herr Speckled Egg be voted off the island.
It was all just too much for our tender-hearted heroine to take in. Because she simply could not imagine tossing that poor, innocent egg from the nest, she decided to do nothing under the guise of waiting for her husband to take care of it.
By the time he came home
she had forgotten all about it and she served him his gourmet, three-course dinner, rubbed his feet, and fetched his slippers and pipe, the situation had changed drastically, and changed for the worse.
It was, to be frank, the worst case scenario (well, barring the National Guard scenario, of course)…
If our kind, brave, tender-hearted heroine couldn’t bear to do away with an egg, how on earth could she see to offing a beady-eyed, open-beaked, silent-screeching, decidedly-non-pterodactyl BIRD???
She did what anyone would do. She took the matter to her Facebook people. Her Facebook people could solve any problem! Except..
They couldn’t tell what the picture was showing. They wanted her to go BACK OUT THERE. Without the slightest bit of concern for her safety, they went so far as to REQUEST A LIVE-FEED VIDEO.
Being of saintly character, she went out and took a video (which you can view on Facebook), but the
creepy sweet little bird had exhausted itself, what with all the silent screeching, and was still largely undecipherable. She spelled it out.
IT’S THE PTERODACTYL!
Thus ensued a 50 comment, exceedingly entertaining thread, at some indeterminate point during which our heroine’s fine husband finished his pipe, tucked his newspaper under his arm, and took care of the problem.
(Well, until another egg hatches.)