It had not put up much of a fight before it died, but then, it was so tiny. It wasn't a wren; it was a trifle bigger and the tail wasn't the stubby exclamation that is the wren's trademark but it had the same colouring.
It was almost over before I'd had a chance to intervene. My little Jack Russle had starled it from a patch of mottled undergrowth and it must have been too shocked to have got enough momentum to burst into flight. She pawed at it and then, like a cat, toyed with it for some moments before I'd even realised what it was. I shouted and ran towards them both. The dog stood back to let me approach. The bird cowered by a clump of grass. I could see its chest rising and falling very lightly and slowly. As I bent towards it, the chest stopped half way before rising fully and the tiny pointed beak slowly opened, as did the eyes, taking it's last look at the world before darkness fell.
I picked up the creature and, although it was all in the run of the wild, I felt choaked and angry that this timy life was taken so suddenly and violently. It made me think about the arbitrary nature of all life and I felt the awfulness of the injustice that I mean very little in the scheme of things not better than the buddle of feathers in my hand.
Looking back at my dog, she was ashamed. I left her to feel the weight of what she had done. I put the bird back very gently on the grass and pushed a tuft of the sweet green fronds over the dun feathers.
Time up.
Inspration: I thought of an incident about a year ago. It happenend exactly as above and it has stuck in my mind and will do for some time.
It was almost over before I'd had a chance to intervene. My little Jack Russle had starled it from a patch of mottled undergrowth and it must have been too shocked to have got enough momentum to burst into flight. She pawed at it and then, like a cat, toyed with it for some moments before I'd even realised what it was. I shouted and ran towards them both. The dog stood back to let me approach. The bird cowered by a clump of grass. I could see its chest rising and falling very lightly and slowly. As I bent towards it, the chest stopped half way before rising fully and the tiny pointed beak slowly opened, as did the eyes, taking it's last look at the world before darkness fell.
I picked up the creature and, although it was all in the run of the wild, I felt choaked and angry that this timy life was taken so suddenly and violently. It made me think about the arbitrary nature of all life and I felt the awfulness of the injustice that I mean very little in the scheme of things not better than the buddle of feathers in my hand.
Looking back at my dog, she was ashamed. I left her to feel the weight of what she had done. I put the bird back very gently on the grass and pushed a tuft of the sweet green fronds over the dun feathers.
Time up.
Inspration: I thought of an incident about a year ago. It happenend exactly as above and it has stuck in my mind and will do for some time.
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I would really welcome constructive comments or perhaps even some inspiration. To be honest , I would settle for some encouragement.