Yesterday Tony decided he’d had enough of the ugly cypress bushes we had outside…so he got to work digging them out:
As he was working, he stumbled upon a tiny little bird nest, complete with a tiny little egg:
Because he’s a good guy, he gently picked it up and put it on the porch…only to discover that the egg had small holes in it and no baby bird would ever come from that egg.
I’m guessing it’s my hormones, but that little egg in the empty nest makes me sad, and I really need Tony to get rid of it tonight when he gets home.
It’s just too depressing.