My dad went to bring in some soda, but came back with two blackbird chicks. They were too young to be able to fly. Apparently, they had fallen from the nest and miraculously avoided the attention of all the cats. He put them in a bucket in the boiler room and went inside to eat (we know you're not supposed to touch them because they might get rejected by the parents, but the alternative was certain death).
After dinner we found a pipette thing and gave them a bit of water. They both seemed very confused and sleepy. One was a bit better at the water thing while the other more or less seemed to get water in, then open the beak and fling it all back into my face. Fun! We tried to feed then a freshly killed fly as well, but that didn't work.
After the water, they both seemed to be a bit more lively.
My dad found a ladder, put the birds in a plastic bag and attached it to his toolbelt. He climbed up to the nest (which he has previously helped with a bit of support) under the garage roof and placed them back with a sibling.
I hope they won't fall down again and that the parents will still take care of them.
My dad said something I can't really let go... He said, "We spend so much energy on saving these two chicks and yet we [human] don't care much about animals in general".
We could have fed them to the cats. They would have been very happy about that. Yet we decided these two deserved the time and energy a second chance would cost. The fly we killed to try to save them doesn't really matter all that much. It's just a fly, right?
UPDATE: Today (the day after the original post was created) I found one of the blackbird chicks dead in the garage. It must have fallen down again. Weirdly enough the cats didn't seem interested in it. I didn't know what to do with it, so it was on the garage floor when my dad came home. He's about twice my age, he should know how to deal with dead birds. At least that's what I told myself as I looked at the cold body of the small bird, which made me feel so awkward.