Post authored by my daughter May-B once writer of Buggering Crap
Monkies
I often come upon adventure when I take my dog, Monty, for a
walk. You would think we would avoid getting into trouble on one of the
three routes we take daily, but more often than not, that isn't the case.
There was the time a pack of dogs left their yard and circled Monty doing
nothing to him while he screamed as though being murdered. There was the
time he chased a small car into a snow bank and then looked back to me as
though he had caught me a great prize. He weighs 18 lbs, but he gets me
into more trouble than most full grown people I know.
But I digress. This tale is not about Monty, although
he was present, it's about another animal. A bird.
A bird I had to kill.
Monty and I were on our walk, minding our own business (as
we do), when a City truck drove by. I thought nothing of it and carried
on my way until the truck slammed on his brakes and swerved to the side.
I turned to look and saw a small bird lay on the road. The two had
obviously collided leaving a clear winner.
A middle aged man stepped out of the truck with panic on his
face. He looked like a 70s hippy throw-back with long silver hair and
handlebar mustache. He warily approached the bird and explained he had
tried to avoid her, but the bird had swooped right into his tires.
She was a small robin with a mottled brown chest and a badly
damaged lower half. She breathed heavily, gasping for air, as she lay
dying in front of us. The city worker's eyes began to mist and a single
tear rolled down his cheek as he offered to take her to the Humane Society for
help. I assured him it was too late for that. She was in her last
moments.
The man was overwrought and stood dumbfounded at the little
life ending in front of him. He looked to me for guidance and I found
myself offering to take care of her. To end her suffering so as to end
his. He agreed to hold Monty's leash (thank God the dog had not decided
to be brave and eat the poor bird. I think that would have been the end
of the man altogether.)
I had two waste bags in my pocket for the dog and used them
because I'd always been told birds carry disease. I contemplated the fact
I had no idea if this was true, but I wasn't taking the chance. I draped
one bag over her body and one over her head. I picked her up gently and
decided the most humane thing was to break her neck.
Being a city girl, I have never done this before. I assumed
it would be simple.
I gently twisted. And twisted. And twisted.
The bird's head just kept turning while she just kept living.
I started to panic. Not only was I not helping to end the
bird's suffering, I was just torturing the poor thing.
I was about to give up when I pulled out instead of twisted.
POP! The head came clear off the bird.
I quickly put the bags back together so the tormented man
wouldn't see the mess I made and ran to the garbage bin a block away to
disperse of the corpse I had mutilated. I returned, assured the man it
all went well and was not his fault, and walked as fast as I could away from
the dump site.
I immediately messaged my sisters to tell them of the
horror. They assured me I was a hero, despite the decapitation.
Next up, chickens.