A few days ago I took Bobby outside in the backyard, he has been with us for six years, and about eight months ago I was having great sadness about how unnatural his life was, and maybe it was time to give some fresh air a try.

I had been holding off on this, as a crow may have a broken wing, but they have legs like pistons, and Bobby is fast on his feet. But I took my courage in hand, as the “backyard” is a cement slab with a falling down fence and a neglected mixture of ivy, bougainvilla, two types of pine trees, both weird….However, upon studying it with eyes that were not irritated with the landlady’s neglect of the place, and our fruitless attempts to make it into something pretty, I felt fairly certain that Bobby would not be able to navigate too far, fast or not.

It all worked out, and I try to get him outside at least once a week, as he seems to enjoy it. I stay with him, and usually one of the cats is out, as is the rabbit, everyone just kicking around.

The yard is right off of Tomas’s studio, and the sliding glass door is open, as we don’t want to miss the elusive breeze that might pop by.

Tomas was inside reading the news, I was sitting outside watching Bobby poke around in the ivy, Vinnie the cat was relaxing on a chair, Wullith the Rabbit was hanging in the cool dirt under the ficus I planted. Don’t harsh my mellow, man.

“Oh, so they caught the priest that was stalking Conan O’Brien” Tomas remarks calmly.

“What?” I yelp, causing an immediate chain reaction. Vinnie pops his head up, Wullith sits up, ears back.

Bobby goes apeshit and starts running down the side of the house. I get up and start after him, he is hopping away from me at a very brisk pace, flapping his wing and a half, and making his signature quacking noise that indicates total upset with the whole situation.

I am torn between chasing Bobby and my virgin ears hearing more about a priest stalking Conan O’ Brian????

Now, I like Conan, but Tomas and I are die hard Craig Ferguson fans. I could understand the reaction if it were Craig, but the twisted part of my brain finds it horribly funny that a good Irish boy like Conan has a priest stalking him. I must know more!

But, the maternal instinct kicks in, winning by a nose hair over the sick celebrity addiction, and I have to get to Bobby before he dives into the ivy, and I have to battle whatever is living in that overgrown mess.

We avoid that scene, as he goes roaring back out into the cement circle, (sorry, yard), deciding that jumping up into the bamboo is the best choice.

Now, crows do not roost in bamboo. Especially a thin, half dead stalk bamboo plant such as ours. But he has done it, and is flapping wildly, getting stuck, this is not good.

I try talking to him calmly, unfortunately, this news about Conan O Brien has freaked him out so intensely, that my soothing voice telling him that Conan is unhurt, everything is okay, is falling on deaf ears. I have no alternative but to grab him, which I hate to do. The best way to get him back into the house is to get him on my arm, and we both waltz inside with our dignity intact.

Not this time. He is in trouble, and I have to get him out. I grab, he struggles, and dear lord no, there is blood. He managed to get his bad wing up around a dead stalk of bamboo, and poke himself just hard enough to draw blood.

I am a bad mom. My child is bleeding. I can only imagine what parents of human children go through when they cut and scrape themselves.

We make it into the house, into the bathroom, where I wet a paper towel and gently push it under his wing, putting easy pressure for a few seconds. It comes out soaked with blood.

I know enough to be able to stay calm, because bird blood coagulates very fast, and this is not a gushing wound, he simply got a little scrape. He is going to be fine.

I keep asking him why is he so distressed? Is because he does not feel like a good Catholic bird, and if a priest could stalk a celebrity, what terrible terror awaits a Catholic Crow, clearly living in sin?

I remind him that he takes communion every day, even though it is not a blessed wafer, it is a Ruffles potato chip. I console him that although we have not had a priest bless the bag of chips, that he is receiving God’s love through the mom, and not to worry, he is not in trouble with the Church.

He seems to settle down, and we went back to his condo, where more consoling goes on.

It must be hard when one does their best within their chosen faith, only to hear that some of their spiritual leaders are total nutcases.

It is certainly a surprise to find out that one’s child is deeply faithful.

I guess I am going to have to find Bobby a cheap Merlot to offer him with his Ruffle, as I have clearly been remiss in taking the important steps in guiding my child in his spiritual quest.

C’mon, spiritual leaders! If you choose that calling, don’t do these things that let down your flock. Especially a crow. They are extremely sensitive.