Wednesday morning workmen cut the branches and most of the trunk of the tree I wrote about in Tuesday’s post, the heliotrope on the golf course that was blown over during our recent rainstorms. The albatross nest next to the tree had not been touched when the tree fell over; the chick was unharmed. While the men were working, I moved the chick a little ways off, not far from another chick. He thanked me be spitting up fish oil on my pants, but at least he did not get any on his feathers. I would rather scrub my pants than add to the the poor little chick’s trauma by wiping fish oil off of him. An important part of his world had come crashing down, narrowly missing his nest—-how scary is that for a little seabird?
The workmen moved quickly and left the nest intact. The chick is back in his safe zone waiting calmly for his next meal.
And I am washing my pants for the third time. There is nothing that can match the aroma of upchucked fish oil.