Perhaps we’re bird-brained for giving this heron such care

Are we mentally deficient, my wife and I, or are we apprentice angels who, when we pop off, will grow heron-wings and soar skyward to a heron heaven where our human transgressions will be overlooked because the feathered divinity thinks we’re birds?

I’d put our almost eight years of supplying free lunches to our ‘domestic’ heron down to weak minds, not angelic instincts. That was certainly my analysis last Tuesday night as I ploughed 120km there-and-back to Baltimore for herrings to feed the bird during our imminent absence from home, when neighbours and resident family will take on the job.