If anything happens to me in the next while, please explain that I don't normally keep dead birds in the dishwasher.
Let me explain. Last night I was sitting quietly reading a book. I was in my living room and it was very quiet, no TV, no radio, even outside it was peaceful. Then I heard it. It was the odd, low meow that my cat Nina makes when she has brought me another present. Sigh. I put down the book just as Tater and Ching Ching caught on that something was up. We all ran to the dining room, me shouting, "No! No! Stay back! Nina, drop it!" I had hopes I was in time.
I was not.
I told the dogs to leave the room. I stomped my foot and Nina dropped her prey. A little grey bird fell to the floor. It seemed to be fluttering...just a bit. Just a slight flash of life. Nina jumped up on a chair. The dogs stood by. I approached closer with some trepidation. On the floor there it was. Its wings were spread out. I was still hopeful it had survived. I ran to the kitchen and got an old dishtowel. I grabbed an empty box from the recycle. Gently I scooped up the poor thing and wrapped it in the towel and placed it in the box.
I thanked Nina. I gave the dogs half a bisquit each. I called my friend who knows about birds.
"They usually freeze when attacked, don't they?" I asked, already suspecting the truth of the situation. "Don't they?"
"Sometimes," he said. "I am on my way."
I waited. I wanted to open the box and check but I thought, no, it might fly out and be disoriented and hurt itself. Who knew at this point? It was safe in the box, wasn't it? I thought about that movie Paul which I had seen recently. They characters are travelling in a van down a highway and accidentally hit bird. It is killed and lies on the highway. They stop to help it. Paul gets out, tells them to stand back and works some extra-terrestial magic (Paul is an alien ala E.T.) and the bird comes to life. I won't tell you what happens next although you may have seen it in the previews on TV. So, I thought, why couldn't this happen to this little unfortunate creature?
My friend arrived. Within minutes he pronounced the bird dead. Dead. Dead.
"Do you want the towel?" he asked. "No," I said. "Do you want to throw it out then?" But seeing the look on my face, he immediately added, "or bury it?"
I said I would bury it in the morning. It was late. It was dark. The neighbors might wonder.
I wanted to put the bird somewhere it would be safe, where one of the cats or the dogs wouldn't try to get it. It deserved more than being tossed into the trash. I thought, the dishwasher. It was empty and I could run it before using it again (as if something would jump off the dead bird in the night and befowl the appliance). And so there it rested all night, still there now.
So I am about to take it out and bury it, deep, in the garden. Maybe say a little prayer. I know, maybe I am loony, but on Easter...how could I do anything else? So here I go now. If I live through the next twenty minutes, the bird will be out of the dishwasher and the cycle end and begin again, both that of the dishwasher and the bird and me.
Bless the little bird. Forgive the cat. It is all part (a difficult part though) of life's realities.
Let me explain. Last night I was sitting quietly reading a book. I was in my living room and it was very quiet, no TV, no radio, even outside it was peaceful. Then I heard it. It was the odd, low meow that my cat Nina makes when she has brought me another present. Sigh. I put down the book just as Tater and Ching Ching caught on that something was up. We all ran to the dining room, me shouting, "No! No! Stay back! Nina, drop it!" I had hopes I was in time.
I was not.
I told the dogs to leave the room. I stomped my foot and Nina dropped her prey. A little grey bird fell to the floor. It seemed to be fluttering...just a bit. Just a slight flash of life. Nina jumped up on a chair. The dogs stood by. I approached closer with some trepidation. On the floor there it was. Its wings were spread out. I was still hopeful it had survived. I ran to the kitchen and got an old dishtowel. I grabbed an empty box from the recycle. Gently I scooped up the poor thing and wrapped it in the towel and placed it in the box.
I thanked Nina. I gave the dogs half a bisquit each. I called my friend who knows about birds.
"They usually freeze when attacked, don't they?" I asked, already suspecting the truth of the situation. "Don't they?"
"Sometimes," he said. "I am on my way."
I waited. I wanted to open the box and check but I thought, no, it might fly out and be disoriented and hurt itself. Who knew at this point? It was safe in the box, wasn't it? I thought about that movie Paul which I had seen recently. They characters are travelling in a van down a highway and accidentally hit bird. It is killed and lies on the highway. They stop to help it. Paul gets out, tells them to stand back and works some extra-terrestial magic (Paul is an alien ala E.T.) and the bird comes to life. I won't tell you what happens next although you may have seen it in the previews on TV. So, I thought, why couldn't this happen to this little unfortunate creature?
My friend arrived. Within minutes he pronounced the bird dead. Dead. Dead.
"Do you want the towel?" he asked. "No," I said. "Do you want to throw it out then?" But seeing the look on my face, he immediately added, "or bury it?"
I said I would bury it in the morning. It was late. It was dark. The neighbors might wonder.
I wanted to put the bird somewhere it would be safe, where one of the cats or the dogs wouldn't try to get it. It deserved more than being tossed into the trash. I thought, the dishwasher. It was empty and I could run it before using it again (as if something would jump off the dead bird in the night and befowl the appliance). And so there it rested all night, still there now.
So I am about to take it out and bury it, deep, in the garden. Maybe say a little prayer. I know, maybe I am loony, but on Easter...how could I do anything else? So here I go now. If I live through the next twenty minutes, the bird will be out of the dishwasher and the cycle end and begin again, both that of the dishwasher and the bird and me.
Bless the little bird. Forgive the cat. It is all part (a difficult part though) of life's realities.
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