Life's little (slightly icky) mysteries

Yesterday I left work early for an appointment, then took my son home before going to pick up the girls. Inside I was met by the scruffier of my two dogs, and after shooing him out the dog-sized gap made by a dog-nose pushing open the screen door I discovered the first evidence.
The end of a carrot.
A margarine container.
A plastic bag.
More plastic.
The dogs had gotten inside and ripped into the plastic rubbish bag and strewn the contents across the kitchen.
Sigh.
So I picked up the majority of the mess, left son in front of tv and went to get the girls. Home again, and after some to-ing and fro-ing all the kids went across the road to the neighbour's place.
Then I found the real crime.
A feather.
Another feather.
A noise, I turn around, and there is a young magpie on top of my boxes of knitting essentials (in fact, the box of sock wool, so in fact it was the not-stash), and he/she is missing most of his/her tail feathers. There are blood smears across the windowsill, drops drying on my plastic tubs, a couple of bits of birdshit around the place. The dogs must have managed to corner it in the house - why it was in the house at all I don't know, probably just curiosity about the open screen door.
The MOMD got home just then, and used his superior reach to gently take the box to the open door so the poor bird could get out of our house. It seemed more or less ok, so we didn't want to handle it lest it be rejected by its family. It flew off and we didn't find any feathers this morning.

I hope it's ok.
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