bad metaphor

While sitting around at E’s parents’ house, dozing off with a dog in my lap, I was suddenly disrupted from my half-slumber by a loud thud against the wall from outside. Through the window, I saw a plume of tiny feathers cascade outward from the source of the thud. The dog hopped to the window and barked a bit, before growing bored and settling back to sleep. I took this opportunity to investigate:

(click for big)

A tiny and amazingly intact bird lay on the ground. I figured from the noise of the impact, it would have brains and other entrails oozing out of it, but no. Despite my professed hatred of birds, I thought it quite beautiful, and a little pitiable.

(also click for big)

When E took the dogs out for a wee walk, he had to restrain them from desecrating the remains. I decided that a proper burial would have to take place quickly. At first I thought maybe we should bury it in a shoebox, since that seems to be the standard makeshift coffin for tiny household pets – but we did not have any on hand, and the bird was a bit small for one anyways. So I tried this instead:

We ended up ruling that out since it was clunky, and anyway it would probably decompose faster unbagged. E located a spot in the yard that was not likely to be tilled by gardeners or torn up by dogs (hopefully):

Last rites for the interred bird.

Mourners at the funeral.

E the grave digger.

The spot E had chosen happened to have a ceramic angel figurine wedged at the foot of the tree! Perfect for the headstone of a tiny mourned bird – although, now that I think about it, I sure hope that wasn’t meant to be the headstone for a previously buried dead critter. Ah well, E should have known if that spot was free, right?

Goodbye birdie! May flights of angels wing thee to thy rest, although I guess you could probably do that yourself. Hope there are no walls in birdie heaven.

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