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Why I call him Francis

Early spring through fall my husband has radar hearing for birds in distress. He hears them struggling in the downspout across the street at the church, and goes over to free them. Pulling months of debris, and failed nest attempts out of the downspout before the reward of being swooped by a bird.

One freed bird was so thankful she returns to build a nest near the house. How do I know that is the same bird? Well, you see my sweet husband makes the same sound to all critters, and if said critter reacts to said sound I assume they are kin. It’s not really a clucking, or clicking, or kissy sound it really is hard to describe. Honest to goodness though the only thing I’ve heard him call to differently were the cows in the distance and an answering howling coyote.

I call him Francis as in Saint Francis. Because it is not just the birds that he has a kind heart towards it’s any critter you can think of. ANY.

When we first moved in he found a nest of baby mice in the shed. Much to my dismay this man took the babies and put them under the chicken lamp. I do believe that they were eaten by the chickens and I was not upset by this circle of life moment.

He found a nest of baby bunnies in the yard… he put up a flag in the yard to mark the sight. He did not mow over it and he didn’t let the dogs near it. The bunnies thrived until feral cats started to kill everything in sight.

The neighbor’s elderly that shows up at all hours of the night gets a warm place to lay his head, and a treat or two to fill his belly.

The bunnies in the garden, the birds nesting in The propane tank, the neighbor’s ponies that tend to break loose… all critters great and small.

Never defeated he still looked out for any critter near or far. It’s a side not everyone else gets to see, and I’m so thankful he shares it with me and our boys.

So Saint Francis is alive and well in the heart of Ege, and I’m proud to call him mine.

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