As Fuzzy was preparing to leave the house for work this morning, I heard him declare, “It’s Thursday,” which was relevant because Thursday is garbage and recycling day (as opposed to Monday which is garbage day but NOT recycling day) and we’d forgotten to put out anything. He quickly did so, then came into the bedroom and said, “We have another problem. There’s a bird in the house.”

“Is it dead?” I wanted to know, because Miss Cleo has developed a habit of killing birds lately, and leaving them displayed prominently in the middle of the living room floor.

“No, it’s alive.”

And thus began a half hour process of closing doors and curtains, and of Fuzzy first using a broom to get the bird of the windowsill 20 feet above the living room floor, and then, because it retreated to the crevice between the wall and the entertainment center, poking it with a stick until it was somewhere he could reach it. (By ‘stick’ I mean, the non-brush end of the broom handle, and by ‘poke’ I mean in a completely humane manner, of course.)

“Do we have rubber gloves?” he asked me.

“No,” I answered in my what-a-stupid-question-we-never-use-rubber-gloves tone. “Why?”

“I want to protect my hands. In case it has diseases and things.”

I’m uncertain as to exactly what ‘things’ a pigeon (well, it might have been a dove) is likely to have, mites, maybe, but I’m fairly certain that rubber gloves would not be much protection. Still, I offered, “I can give you a large Ziploc bag.”

This seemed to do the job, for five minutes later, Fuzzy had the bird in hand, and released it into the trees. He washed his hands – twice – kissed me, and set off for work.

I settled down to drink coffee and nibble on a toasted English muffin and watch the clouds for a while. I wasn’t expecting actual rain (though in any place other than north Texas the cloud cover would have guaranteed it), but we actually did get some real rain – not a lot – but some, before the wind blew the clouds away and replaced them with a relentlessly blue sky.

I vaguely recall there being a tornado watch, as well, but I wasn’t really paying attention to that.

We spent the evening out, indulging in a trip to Don Pablos for queso and chicken (mine was grilled, Fuzzy’s was in a chimichanga), and then came home and puttered on our respective computers. He went to bed at midnight, and I’m on my way there NOW.