There are days when I, Bjørge the Mighty, feel like the universe is trying to tell me something.
It all started with a mysterious crime scene – a poor red bird lying flat on the deck, its feathers scattered like the aftermath of a feathery bar fight. No wounds. No signs of struggle. Just… gone.
Now, a normal human would probably say,
“Oh no, what a shame,”
and move on with their day.
But not my human.
No, no.
He saw the lifeless bird and his inner medic kicked in.
Because, ladies and gentlemen, this man – with actual medical training – tried to resuscitate the bird.
🤲 Held it gently. Checked for signs of life.
👂 Listened for a heartbeat (on a bird…).
💨 Considered mouth-to-beak (but thank God, stopped himself).
🚨 Briefly thought about calling for professional help.
And when all else failed?
👉 Held an emergency funeral – digging a tiny grave like he was conducting the world’s smallest Viking burial.
👉 Muttered something dramatic about ‘respect for nature’ while looking over his shoulder, probably expecting the ghost of the red bird to haunt him.
👉 Planted a young oak tree over the grave – a noble gesture, but let’s be real… that tree now carries serious baggage.
But the weirdest part?
This was only the beginning.
Because just hours later, something way bigger happened.
🆘 Something went down. A rescue mission. A frantic human. A baby bird.
A scene so chaotic that I can’t even describe it in one post.
Which is why you’ll have to wait until Sunday to hear the full story. 😏
(Hint: It involves an old cage, a ladder, and a grown man handling a baby bird like it was a ticking time bomb.)
Stay tuned.
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