Operation: Baby Mockingbird Rescue

This is an old one from last year. It was on my other (discontinued) blog, so I thought I'd transfer. Ya know, keep my two blog posts in one place.

      It was a mild Oklahoma evening in mid-May, and the cat had got out again.
      "Dang it, Harper! I done told you not to let that dang cat out! She brings fleas into the house!"
      "Oh, I sorry, Mama."
      "All right then. Get yourself inside that house until I can finish up out here."

      Mama continued planting Bermuda grass seed and cursed the mockingbirds helter-skelter song under her breath, "Dang birds always gotta be screamin'." It was about the time that Mama was moving the sprinkler when she noticed something small jumping up and down in the corner of the yard. Turning, she saw a baby mockingbird and Pumpkin--that dang cat--lurking just a few feet from it. Instantly, Mama sprang into action, shooing Pumpkin away.
      What now? Mama thought. I can't just leave this bird out here. Pumpkin won't let me anywhere near her (can't imagine why) so that I can put her inside. Mama tried to see if Baby Bird would let her get close. Baby Bird just hopped around, looking for an out. All right then, I'll just leave you to it, little bird, and try to keep that cat away. 
      Mama continued on with her evening chores--mowing, watering, edging, sweeping. Every now and then, she would go into the backyard and check to see that Pumpkin was at bay and that Baby Bird was still intact. Each time, Mama would attempt to get a little closer to Baby Bird. Eventually Baby Bird would hold still long enough to allow Mama to run a solitary finger over her smooth feathers. Whistling to Baby Bird, Mama attempted to pick her up. "It's okay, Baby Bird, I'm not gonna hurt ya," Mama soothingly said to the bird. Still not comfortable, Baby Bird chirped in protest and easily wiggled out of Mama's grasp. "That's okay, girl. I let ya be fer now." Mama resumed a few more chores before approaching the bird--now on the porch--again. This time, Mama was able to pick up Baby Bird without a problem. Well, heck. What do I do now? I don't know where the nest is, and I don't even know if I should put her back in the nest if I did know where it was. I can't just leave her out here... I have to put her somewhere. Mama spied the crape myrtle bushes over by the fence. Those are tall enough that Pumpkin can't get her but not too tall so that if she fell out she wouldn't be hurt. I'll stick her in there until I think of something better.

      Walking over to the bush with Baby Bird, Mama was berated by several unhappy mockingbirds. "Hush yer beaks! I'm tryin' to help your spawn!" Mama whistled her soft tune again, and the birds seemed to quiet for a moment. Gingerly, Mama set Baby Bird in the crape myrtle and tried to decide what to do next. I reckon I can keep her there until I get that stupid cat in the house. Maybe I should call that bird rescue I saw on the Internet a couple of years ago. Nah.

      Mama picked up where she left off, sweeping and moving the sprinkler. It didn't take long for the birds to start creating a ruckus again, and Mama had a feeling she knew what the problem was. Sure enough, Pumpkin was slinking in the tall grass of Old Man Peabody's yard, just waiting for the opportunity to get that bird in her jaws.Get my shotgun! I'm gonna kill me a cat! Except Mama didn't have a shotgun, so the water hose would have to suffice. Turning on the water and picking up the gun on the end of the hose, Mama switched the setting from shower to jet. That's right, you little devil. You're about to get an backside full of water! Creeping across the backyard, Mama took her position, aimed, and fired a perfect blast of cold water onto Pumpkin. Frazzled, the cat took off under the neighbor's shed. If I'm lucky that old crank mighta put some rat poisonin' down, and one problem will be resolved.

     Satisfied with her cat-attack, Mama looked in on Baby Bird. Mama whistled at her and mother mockingbird up on the wire above the tree. As if Baby Bird knew what she meant, she opened her little beak as wide as she could and titled her head back.Shoot-fire, now I gotta feed this thing? Well...guess I can dig up some worms. And Mama did just that. When she brought the worms back to Baby Bird, momma bird started singing that haphazard tune. This time, though, it seemed sweeter to Mama's ears, like she knew that Mama was doing something good by protecting her baby. Whistling to cue Baby Bird again, Mama held up the plump and juicy dirt-dweller. Baby Bird gratefully gobbled about four worms, and Mama went back to get more.

      Dusk was starting to set in, and Harper had emerged from the house again. Luckily, Satan's cat was back in the yard, and Harper was able to get a hold of her to take her back in the house. With all safe and seemingly sound, Mama made the decision to take Baby Bird out of the tree. Whistling to Baby Bird once more, Baby Bird climbed onto Mama's hand, and Mama lowered her to the ground. Baby Bird lingered, as if to show her gratitude and reluctance to part from Mama. "Go on, now. You're safe fer now." Baby Bird hopped off and into the dusk.

      Walking back to the house, Mama listened to the only sound of the new night--the still-sweet song of the mockingbird--and she knew she had a made some friends.

THE END!

I'm Baked

Not in the sense that everyone is thinking, though. 

I used to be a pretty darn good baker. 

Following directions: no problem. 

Adding some flare and calling it my own: Boom. Done.

Getting raves from family, friends, and coworkers: well, I got a couple office "awards" that will clear that right up. 

But for some reason, this July has not been going well. I have ruined two batches of cookies in two weeks.  A friend of mine contributes humidity and the wrong oats, but I know what's really happening. I've lost my touch.

The baker got baked.

Baking is a no-brainer for me. It just came natural. I mean, how hard is it really? It's not like cooking. That takes a bit more knowledge of how things come together. Baking: flour, sugar, butter, shortening, and some other spices: how hard is it!? It's just not.

So what I was hoping would be some chewy, fluffy Snickerdoodles today turned in to this: 

a (now half-eaten, thanks to the kids) plate of Snickerduddles. They have decent horrible flavor. All I can taste is vegetable shortening. Maybe this is why:

So, like, a year overdue, right? For some things, that doesn't matter. When I took the lid off the shortening, the smell hit me full force: pure vegetable oil. I ignored it, because I have come to hate that smell, so I thought it was just my aversion to it instead of a silent warning: your cookies are going to fail.

Last week, my cookie attempt was the chocolate, peanut butter, oatmeal no-bake. Who doesn't love these? Usually, I use old-fashioned oats, which doesn't normally set well. No worries. I put them in the fridge for a bit, and they're good to go. Why don't I just get quick oats, you ask? Good question. Because I'm lazy. I get old-fashioned oats for regular oatmeal needs, and a trip to the store for random cookies needs is just too much to handle. I do have two small monsters who I have to take everywhere with me after all. Although, after another failed batch, I think I will start keeping an extra container of the quick oats on reserve. But I don't think that was the problem this time. 

I think the problem was this:

Notice the big X and the note I left to myself? Yeah, I forgot I tried this recipe before, and the exact same thing happened: the whole thing burned up before I had a chance to drop them onto the wax paper. Five minutes!? That's a crazed amount of time, and the chocolate mix burned up quite quickly. Also notice the author didn't specify what kind of oats to use. I blame the system. The other recipe I found in cookbook by food critics says one minute. I'm going for that next time.

What the real problem is, I think, is that I have lost/misplaced my original recipes for both of these. Well, that and not using the correct or expired ingredients.

Next week, after a trip to the grocery store, I'm going to try a third time. Hopefully, it is a charm, because all I want is a decent homemade cookie.

In the meantime, my cooking has actually been quite good. Yea, me!