I should name this bird.
Today when I padded through the empty house, reveling in the silence, rubbing the morning blur from my eyes, I heard a scuffle downstairs.
I tiptoed down the hallway, peering into the bathroom. Bird was perched on the edge of the toilet seat (in my father's bathroom, so you must assume the lid was not down), desperately trying to get his little sparrow beak into the water. He had been stuck in the pipe all night long, I'm sure, because I'd heard him rattling around in there before I went to bed.
His little talons were clenched tightly on the rounded edge of the white seat and as he bowed his bright-eyed head to take a drink, they slowly slipped down toward the water. Bird would have to flutter back, flapping his wings. He cocked his head and peered into the bowl.
I honestly believe that if Bird had fingers he would have scratched his head.