Of course we shouldn't have waited as long as we did to call him back, but the fear of bad news had us immobilized. Once I had thoroughly convinced myself that Little Guy was no longer among the living, I phoned the bird man to get the bad news first hand. I managed to lose your phone number right after you left, and I've been dying to tell you the good news. It seems that all Little Guy needed was some expert care for a couple of days, while he recovered from a mild concussion. He soon got so agitated at being caged up in the basement that the bird man had to let him go.
Swallows always return home.
Today there are half a dozen swallows snatching insects out of the air around our house, each brilliantly plumed in shiny green and white. But my daughter is sure she can pick out Little Guy each time he swoops by. I was so impressed by my daughter's act of mercy in rescuing the injured swallow that for days afterward I continued to praise her selfless efforts. When she couldn't stand it any longer, she decided to shut me up and set the record straight at the same time. Little Guy was sent to watch over me.