one of the baby swallows was smaller than the rest, with a splayed leg and tattered feathers. he'd gotten wrapped up in the toilet paper we use to line the nest, and wasn't being fed with the others. i shooed away an older one who was gaping incessantly at my pink fingers, and picked up the straggler. his dry feet clasped at my hand, tiny wings fluttered, bleary eyes met mine. with a q-tip and warm water i cleaned off his feathers, his grimy beak. i fed him carefully, making sure he swallowed. the other birds were chirping indignantly; i'd spent five minutes with this one, and that put the other six cages behind on their feeding schedule. i set him carefully back in the nest, where he toppled over and lay heaving on his side. when i'd made the circuit and came back to his cage, another bird was perched on top of him, and he hadn't moved. i fed the others and then pulled him out again, holding his tiny body close to my own, my heart beating a slow timpani against his wildly chiming snare. i fed him again, a quarter of a cc, and when i put him back in the nest, he stood tottering and stared at me until another bird knocked him over.