"The Hole"

Last week while walking my dog, I passed a bird house with a small finch  perched beside the opening.
Her body was outside with her head poking into the birdhouse and she was as still as a statue.
Curious as to why she chose not to fly away, I investigated closer and realized she had her head stuck tight in the entrance hole!!
Trying not to panic her or myself, I approached the bird house and spoke in a hushed tone, thinking that she would squeeze out on her own rather than encounter a human.  Wrong.
I gently tried to disengage her head from the hole. Up, down, sideways ...and all I managed to accomplish was to escalate my  growing anxiety.
I could feel the stretch in her vertebrae and was afraid that I would decapitate her right then and there!
Returning her to the perch, I ran inside like a mad women and after considering everything from Vaseline to butter, grabbed a small boy scout knife.
Supporting my surprisingly calm little bird in my hand, I  began to chip away to enlarge the hole.
Several precarious slices later and the bird suddenly fluttered out of my hand and flew away like a bat out of Hell!
With a sigh of relief, I thanked God and went back inside to collapse on the couch!
But not before I flew around  the yard myself and compulsively enlarged  all the holes on all the birdhouses!!!
I did not want history to repeat itself.
EPILOGUE: The end of the story:   Yesterday, again while walking the dog (maybe I should seriously consider a tread mill?), I saw what appeared to be a pair of wings on my lawn, not attached to any bird!  Was this my rescued bird?  Had I done irreparable damage to her neck?  Did she ultimately die of fright from the experience?  Please, God, no...
But then later in the day as I  passed by a beautiful  tree, filled with new pink blossoms - there sitting on a branch sat a solitary songbird, singing her heart out.
Was that possibly a note of thanks I heard in her song?  Could she be "my" bird instead of that poor wingless one?
In a perfect world, I would like to think so.