The short life of little bird.

The house stirred to life.
We all met in the kitchen for coffee and cereal. Cocoa puffs, if you please, for my daughters. Strong coffee, if you please, for my husband and me.
I looked out the patio door to see a small bird resting on our outside table.
I had Sam walk out to check on it.
In the wait for him to check on it, I observed that it wasn’t on its feet and it was trying to move its tail a little.
Sam checked on it and the girls followed. The bird wasn’t going to fly.
We put the bird into a small container and shielded it from the sun.
We went to church and came home to find it breathing heavy.
We gave it water which it sipped a little of. We gave it food.
Sam inspected the bird again.
Sam and Daphne spend thirty minutes creating a bird box and an A-frame top for it.
They transferred the bird gingerly to the new home complete with a soft tshirt bed and food and water.
Over bites of lunch I discussed life and death with Daphne. I told her that it is our job given to us by God to take care of the sick and the hurting. To do what we can to help. To care. But that sometimes, people and animals get too sick and they die.
Daphne soaked it in with solemn nods.
Sam asked Daphne what she wanted to name the bird.
She said “Little bird.”
Little bird died a few hours later.
Tomorrow we will tell Daphne.
In the meantime, we did what we could to ease the birds pain. We protected it. We gave it water and food and a soft place to rest. We cared, even if it seemed pointless or futile. Even though we weren’t professionals or doctors. We were simple people who did what we could out of the love of our hearts.
Isn’t that what we all should do?

 

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