I was born in Minneapolis. The city is in my blood. But I live in the country, and have been forced to deal with things that are difficult. One thing I've always had trouble with is birds. How could anyone enjoy staring out of the window for hours at these creatures? My mother had always been one of those ridiculous birdwatcher types. She tried to raise her children to have respect for wildlife, but with little effect on me. One evening, a bird had been sitting on the same perch  , as if frozen, for ten minutes. My mother got a ladder and took the bird from his perch. She inspected him. It seemed that his tongue was hurt, and that he was unable to drink from the feeder. My mother handed him to me while she went inside for an eyedropper  . Never in my life had I felt as frightened as when I was holding that tiny life in my hands. I placed the eyedropper inside the long beak. At first, the bird only trembled, but finally he managed to swallow. After a few minutes, he glided   to a tree nearby and returned again. He flew to the tree and then back to me again and again. It didn't take me long to realize that he was sending me a message, a sort of "SOS". I walked toward the tree, where I found the tiny creature trembling in the evening air. I slowly reached into the grass to pick up the bird. "Please, be okay." He had asked me for help. Now he owed me a favor in return and I was asking him to stay alive. However, what I saw was another dead bird lying besides the bird. It must have been a very sad picture: a child wiping her face with her one free hand, while the other palm was cupped around a tiny, dying creature. Fate was taking its own course. Its pulse was hardly noticeable, and the body was growing colder. I realized there were some things I could change and some I must simply accept. In either way, the two worlds sometimes collide   and strangers must ask for, and be willing to receive, help from others. Without this, survival is not only impossible, but meaningless. Why did the bird fly to the author again and again?
To thank her for saving him. To look for food to feed the dying bird. To warn her of danger. To ask for help for the dying bird.
Question: I was born in Minneapolis. The city is in my blood. But I live in the country, and have been forced to deal with things that are difficult. One thing I've always had trouble with is birds. How could anyone enjoy staring out of the window for hours at these creatures? My mother had always been one of those ridiculous birdwatcher types. She tried to raise her children to have respect for wildlife, but with little effect on me. One evening, a bird had been sitting on the same perch  , as if frozen, for ten minutes. My mother got a ladder and took the bird from his perch. She inspected him. It seemed that his tongue was hurt, and that he was unable to drink from the feeder. My mother handed him to me while she went inside for an eyedropper  . Never in my life had I felt as frightened as when I was holding that tiny life in my hands. I placed the eyedropper inside the long beak. At first, the bird only trembled, but finally he managed to swallow. After a few minutes, he glided   to a tree nearby and returned again. He flew to the tree and then back to me again and again. It didn't take me long to realize that he was sending me a message, a sort of "SOS". I walked toward the tree, where I found the tiny creature trembling in the evening air. I slowly reached into the grass to pick up the bird. "Please, be okay." He had asked me for help. Now he owed me a favor in return and I was asking him to stay alive. However, what I saw was another dead bird lying besides the bird. It must have been a very sad picture: a child wiping her face with her one free hand, while the other palm was cupped around a tiny, dying creature. Fate was taking its own course. Its pulse was hardly noticeable, and the body was growing colder. I realized there were some things I could change and some I must simply accept. In either way, the two worlds sometimes collide   and strangers must ask for, and be willing to receive, help from others. Without this, survival is not only impossible, but meaningless. Why did the bird fly to the author again and again?
A. To thank her for saving him.
B. To look for food to feed the dying bird.
C. To warn her of danger.
D. To ask for help for the dying bird.
Answer: