Life is hard. Sometimes, we just have to choose to believe the best.
One day this week, when my husband was pulling into our garage, he kept looking behind him.
“What?!” I demanded. My first thought was: fire, intruder, apocalypse. As is normal for the eternally paranoid.
Instead of any of those things, he said, “I think that’s a dead bird.”
I was way sad face about it because we’ve had a few dead rabbits turn up lately and this is more proof that we do indeed have a neighborhood problem. I know what you’re thinking. Werewolves. I know, that was my first thought, too.
I know nature works its way for a reason, but I’m kind of a pro at mourning strangers and animals I just met.
We get out of the car and it turns out, it’s not a dead bird at all!
It’s a baby!
Meet Little Bird. Named after the television show Little Bear.
Isn’t he adorable? I will love him forever.
Of course my husband was like: “Don’t touch him!”
My response: “It honestly never occurred to me!”
Selective germaphobes do not touch random wild animals.
But anyway, so this baby bird hung out there for a while.
Then he was gone. And this is the core of the post.
I choose to believe his parents came back for him. I choose to believe that he’s off in another part of the neighborhood causing adolescent mischief. I choose to believe these things, even if that does make me naive or optimistic.
Did it occur to me another animal might have eaten him? Yes.
Did it occur to me that Little Bird didn’t get a happy ending?
But I choose to believe he’s with his family in a happier place.
Because life is hard. Life sucks. Sometimes, you just have to choose to believe the best. No good comes from dwelling on the bad.
I doubt I’ll see Little Bird again, but I won’t forget him.
He showed up in my driveway, and that makes him part of my life.
He’ll grow older and have a good life. I choose to believe that.