Like Murray, for instance. He's a Catahoula Hound. We think he may be brain damaged. He was a few days away from being put down, and mom offered to foster him until a home could be found. He never left. When he's excited, he dances (hence the name Murray, like Arthur Murray). He swings his head from side to side and dances from one foot to the other, hopping occasionally. It's bizarre.
Well, there was another addition to the HWHFH this weekend. The nephews found a baby bird that had fallen from its nest. So they brought it inside. And of course, mother took a liking to it. They fed it mashed bloodworms for a day until they could get to the bird store, and now he's living on the kitchen counter in a popsickle box under the hot lights. There's a syringe next to him filled with baby bird formula, and whenever he's hungry he just hollers and someone comes running to stuff it down his throat.
He's ugly as sin, but it's the kind of ugly you can't help but feel sorry for. On Saturday it didn't look like he was going to make it. He was cold, weak and couldn't stop shivering. But we pumped enough food into him so that by this morning he was loud and obnoxious, and as demanding as every other animal in the house.
And so the family grows yet again.
They don't even know what kinda bird it is...