When I was 10, my first year in the new house, my dad found a couple of abandoned baby birds in the yard. Thinking they wouldn't survive the night, he tucked them away in a bush to protect them.

Upon discovering they were still alive the next day, my father brought them inside, to live on our porch. I was delighted - the two ugly, scrawny, noisy things were just adorable!

For the next few days, we fed them half a worm each, gave them water, and tried to keep the poor things alive. One of them died after two days, the other after four. We buried them in our backyard.

I couldn't understand why the birds died... we gave them shelter, food, and water. It just wasn't fair, the poor things. My parents said they probably were too little to eat worms by themselves, and they blocked up their systems.
But it wasn't like I was going to chew up the worms for them. Oh well.

That's my dead bird story.