You can't save all the birds...

NO!
Originally uploaded by Littlebag.

A fable if you will by special request:

So around the time I was thirteen, my brother was about eight. While throwing wal-nuts across the street he had ran across a nest of baby birds. There were 3 in a perfectly formed nest chirping about on the ground. The mother bird swooped about desperately for about two hours wanting to check on the babies but not really having any way that she could help. They were too little to fly and let’s face it - I haven't seen any robins lift an entire nest and carry it around. I have a feeling if they could they would probably always be relocating to more optimal locations.
Realizing the momma bird was in a dire state and that my Siamese cat would have to be let out soon, my brother scooped up the birds nest and put them back up in the tree. Keep in mind he was wearing gloves as to not let the "human" scent taint the birds to their mom. My mom had told me along time ago that animals do not like the scent of humans on their offspring and if they caught whiff of this alleged smell they would instantly murder their "people-smelling" babies. I still haven't found the documentation on this theory and to this day I question its validity. ( My aunt hugged me a gazillion times and I always reaked of Este Lauder, but it never offended my own mother to the point of abandonment.)
After around 2 hours of the birds sitting in the tree, the mother bird still hadn't exactly landed on or by the nest yet. She would land on neighboring branches; and chirp, and circle the tree, and chirp and rinse, lather, repeat. All the while; the babies continued chirping and squawking and becoming more frantic.
The patience of an 8 and 13 year old had already been pushed past the two hour mark and the fact that we had made no efforts to pet or taint the baby birds had been a feat in itself. It was after a 4-hour wait that Larry decided that the babies needed food. Obviously after four hours without food the chicks were in an advanced state of starvation, we were murderers not to help feed the chicks. He pooled his change together and bribed mom to take him to gas station. For those who do not live in mountainous rural regions, gas stations on the western side of the state sell worms for fisherman just as they sell soda, cigarettes, or gas. While Larry was on his food mission with mom, I was trying trick mother bird to come to the nest, by laying about clever tidbits or clues to the chicks location. I left her a bread trail at first. Leaving bread-crumbs on the ground leading to the birds nest, I tried yelling and flapping about and had no luck with that. Basically all that got me was a few odd looks from next-door neighbor and Mr. Campbell eventually telling mom that I needed to make more friends.
Mom was let in on the situation after arriving back at the house. She had deduced that the worms were not for fishing, mainly because any fishing Larry would do a certified uncle would have to drive him too. Mom's approach to animal care was always, "Leave them alone!" "You're hurting more than your helping them." If it was a stray the response was: "We already have a cat." If it was sick; "Don't touch it." If it was a dog; "I hate dogs, NO!" With the birds it was no different. "You don't know how to be a mother bird leave them alone."
We ignored her and began making worm nuggets for the birds. We basically cut them up and fed the chirping chicks. To our delight the little birds gobbled them up. They seemed happy. So Larry was like, "Let's give them some berries." I thought this was a good idea. A well rounded meal, I ran off and got some “bird berries” from the neighboring weeds. The birds ate the berries with the same hungry chirping as when they were eating the worms. The chicks quieted down and we put them on a box on our front porch.

After about an hour the few occasional chirps coming from the box dulled to a muffled squeak. I peeped in on them to find all the birds laying on their side. Chick number one was shaking a bit and chick number 3 was cold. Number two just sorta sat up and chirped blindly at nothing. It was this one that was more traumatic than the other two. Birds have weird eyes anyway and the errantly chirping one with roaming eyes was very traumatic.

Despite the ample cornucopia of berries, wormparts, and water; despite the cush Payless shoebox bedroom lined with blankets, the chicks died. The moral of the story (if there is one) is stay outta other birds business. Despite your best efforts you’re still just feeding them worms sometimes.