This is Bob, a golden retriever who became father to eight orphaned birds. Not by accident. Not because someone forced the arrangement. But because Bob saw small creatures who needed care and decided he was the one to provide it.
Bob watches over them constantly, lying perfectly still so they feel safe perching on his paws and back. Think about that level of self-control. Dogs aren’t naturally still. They move, shift, adjust. But Bob lies motionless because his birds need stillness. Need to know that the body they’re perched on won’t suddenly shift and send them tumbling. Need to trust that this large animal is safe.
When they learned to fly, his tail wagged at each tiny victory. Each awkward flutter. Each stumbling attempt to get airborne. Bob celebrated all of it. His tail wagging with pride every time one of his birds managed to stay in the air for a few seconds longer than the last attempt.
The birds trust him completely, napping between his toes, preening his fur. They sleep nestled against his paws. They use his fur as a grooming surface. They treat him like home because he’s made himself into home—steady, warm, safe, always there.
Bob believes the greatest gift he can give them is believing in their wings. Not keeping them safe and grounded. Not protecting them from the risks of flight. But believing they can fly. Encouraging every attempt. Celebrating every small success. Trusting that these small creatures have the capacity for something he’ll never experience himself.
This golden retriever can’t fly. Will never fly. Doesn’t have wings or any possibility of leaving the ground through his own power. But he believes in his birds’ wings with absolute conviction. Watches them practice. Wags his tail at their victories. Lies perfectly still so they can rest between attempts.
Bob became father to eight orphaned birds. They could have died. Could have been eaten by predators. Could have failed to thrive without their biological parents. But Bob decided they were his. Decided that species differences didn’t matter. That a dog could raise birds if he was patient enough, still enough, believing enough.
Bob watches over them constantly. Not sometimes. Not when it’s convenient. Constantly. Because parenthood doesn’t have breaks. Because fragile birds need constant protection. Because Bob understands that the gift he’s giving them requires consistency—they need to know he’ll always be there, always be safe, always be still when they need stillness.
Lying perfectly still so they feel safe perching on his paws and back. How many hours has Bob spent motionless? How many times has he wanted to shift position, stretch, move, but stayed perfectly still because his birds needed that from him? That’s love. That’s parenthood. Subordinating your own comfort to someone else’s need.
When they learned to fly, his tail wagged at each tiny victory. He couldn’t fly with them. Couldn’t teach them from experience. Couldn’t demonstrate what flight should look like. But he could celebrate. Could wag his tail with joy at each awkward flutter. Could make them feel that their efforts mattered, that learning to fly was worth the struggle, that someone was watching and celebrating every small step toward independence.
The birds trust him completely. That trust didn’t happen immediately. Birds are prey animals. They’re wired to be cautious, suspicious, ready to flee. But these birds trust Bob completely. Sleep between his toes. Preen his fur. Perch on his back. Treat this large predator species as the safest thing in their world.
Because Bob earned that trust. Through constancy. Through patience. Through lying perfectly still even when stillness was difficult. Through celebrating their victories. Through believing in their wings when they were too small to believe in themselves.
Bob believes the greatest gift he can give them is believing in their wings. He could have kept them safe and grounded. Could have been the kind of parent who protects through limitation. But instead he chose to be the parent who protects through belief. Who encourages flight even though flight means they’ll leave. Who celebrates independence even though independence means he’ll be alone again.
That’s the deepest form of parenting. Not keeping your children close because you need them. But preparing them to leave because they need to fly. Bob understands that. Embodies it. Lies still while his birds rest, then wags his tail with joy when they take off.
Eight orphaned birds who needed a father. And Bob—this golden retriever who can’t fly, who will never experience what his children experience, who belongs to an entirely different species—decided he was qualified for the job. Not despite the differences, but understanding that love transcends them.
He watches over them constantly. Lies perfectly still. Wags his tail at their victories. Believes in their wings. And in doing so, he shows us what parenthood looks like when it’s done right: patient, selfless, celebrating growth even when growth means goodbye, believing in capacities you’ll never share.
Bob and his eight orphaned birds. A golden retriever who became a father by believing in wings he’ll never have. A dog who understands that the greatest gift is not protection from flight, but belief in it.