I have a bird-waterer outside, and sometimes sprinkle birdseed on the walk out the front window so the wild house finches and house sparrows can eat without squabbling over a feeder (and yes, to entertain my cats, Klaw and Smoke).
For weeks, a particular female finch came to my waterer. She sipped, then sat with her tail-feathers in the water. At first, I thought she'd found her own little water-park in which to endure our record heat. But her feathers were a little rough. I thought perhaps she fluffed them, or maybe she's sick or just old. She always stayed longer than I was willing to watch.
This morning I went out to blow the seed off the walk before visitors come after church. Just after starting, I saw a bird hunkered down, not flying away, so I turned off the blower and crouched near her. It was the little female from my waterer. Clearly she was not well if she wasn't flying.
She tipped her head sideways on her neck and eyed me. I spoke in that quiet, high-pitched voice women use for animals, trying to comfort her. She lifted her head a little. I decided to go find a shallow tray I could put a little water in, hoping that would give her some relief. It seemed clear she wasn't going to live much longer. I said a little prayer, asking God to take her quickly, so she wouldn't have to suffer.
I returned with the tray only to find her feet-up. God had taken her quickly. I went to get a bag in which to dispose of her body and came back to find a yellow-jacket already at her eye. I shewed him away and collected her remains. Yes, the burial wasn't terribly dignified--as I just sealed her in the bag and put her in the (outdoor) trash--but I doubt she cared because she's now flying free in spirit.
I love the little birdies that come to entertain my boys. Listening to them and watching them relaxes me, and sometimes amuses me. So I decided to ask Venice.ai to write her a poem ('cuz I'm no poet):
For weeks you came to drink and rest,
Tail-feathers trailing in the cool,
Your plumage rough, your spirit pressed,
Against the heat that made us fools
For thinking water was enough
To ease whatever wore you thin.
I watched you more than I watched stuff
Inside my house. You let me in.
This morning, hunkered on the stone,
You did not fly when I came near.
I crouched and made that tender tone
We use for those we hold most dear.
You tipped your head upon your neck,
One bright eye fixed upon my face,
As if to say, "I'm just a speck,
But thank you for this final grace."
I went to find a shallow dish
To ease your passing, little friend.
I prayed God grant his swiftest wish
And bring your suffering to its end.
When I returned, your soul had flown.
Feet-up, released, no longer bound.
The yellow-jacket claimed his own—
I shewed him off and gathered round
Your empty shell, now just a weight,
Sealed you in darkness, placed you out,
Not grand, perhaps, but not too late:
You'd kept your dignity throughout.
So fly now, little she-finch, fly,
Beyond the heat, beyond the pain,
Beyond the water, past the sky,
Where feathers smooth and strong remain.
And know that someone saw your worth,
A tiny life not spent alone—
A witness to your time on earth,
Who blessed you, then let you go home.