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I used to have zebra finches. We kept them in a big cage, with 6 or 7 nest baskets and 2 floors. Feeding them every day or 2 was a hassle. It seemed one little guy would always escape. Since they were mine, it was my job to catch him. It became quite a morning ritual.

Get bird seed -> chase out cats -> close all exits to room -> open bird cage door -> exchange seed containers -> watch little guys escape -> catch little guy -> put little guy back in cage -> get lectured for letting him escape by Mom.

I became skilled at catching zebra finches: I could catch one mid flight in hand, hold tight enough that he couldn't escape, yet not so tight he died. (Tiny birds like that are mostly fluff that can squeeze through a closed fist, and toothpick bones that shatter in a little girl's grip.) Then I just had to get them in the bird cage, which was easy since I only had to open the door big enough for my hand, not a container of seed.

Man, Mom had me worried even if I held them perfectly safe they'd die of a heart attack. Considering how often they escaped I think even they were used to it, though.

I'm thinking of this because I saw a baby bird while on the way to class. I knew it was a baby, because it could not yet fly well, and there was a bigger bird near by keeping half an eye on it. So I ate my lunch watching it hop and hobble and occasionally flutter.