Four families of sparrows have moved into the roof of our second-story addition (one in each corner of the roof). This is owing to our negligence in putting up the soffit and stucco siding. I can’t let them stay there. I can’t just cover the nests; they’re full of baby sparrows. It falls to me to figure out what to do with them. And as of today, my attempts at being merciful and humane to the first two nests have failed.
I put the nests into a plastic bowl, trying to handle it as little as possible, and put it up under the eaves not far from the original location. Either the parents can’t find them or for some reason they won’t get near them, because in each case, the chicks are dead next morning.
The Calvinist will tell me, I suppose, that God is sovereign and knew whether those birds would have turned to a life of sin. Then, too, the Charismatic would say that I didn’t have enough faith, or the birds didn’t, or both; and the Catholic will tell me those birds are in hell because they were never baptised.
But joking aside, I can foresee myself getting tired of burying dead baby birds.
