Holy cow. This is really too easy.
The author of this book needs to be seeing a psychiatrist at least once a week, in addition to being highly medicated.
The mother bird leaves the nest just as her baby is hatching from the egg. I'm sorry, but let me speak for Mother Bird here when I say, if I've sat on that damn egg for what seemed like an eternity, I sure as hello dolly am not going to go flying off just when it's about to hatch. And why, praytell did she fly off? To get the food that she just now realized her baby will need upon it's hatching. CLEARLY, a man wrote this book because only a dumb cow of a man would wait until the last possible second to go get food for its starving baby. Clearly.
Moving on, only another dumb cow of a man would actually think that the baby bird would mistake a kitten, chicken, dog, cow, and large construction machinery for its mother. OF COURSE instinct would not steer the baby bird in the right direction toward it's mother. Of course.
And finally, my last literary gripe with "Are You My Mother?" where is the climax and where in the hell is my denouement? That bit about the construction machinery dropping the baby in the nest sure sucks as a climax. And dear old mommy returning sure bites a big one for the denouement. It's filthy I tell you. Filth.
I'd as soon have Grif watching Entourage than read this poopy diaper of a novel. Jeremy Piven can at least give him some education about being a walking weinerhead.