disclaimer: maybe this entry should have a disclaimer. there you go.
oh my, i cannot even bring myself to write about this.
deep breath tight fist let's go.
this morning at 9.00 or so i went to sit on the back deck. i admired bean's kitchen-garden which she keeps there, in flowerpots & recycled tin cans. past the basil & past the majorca rosemary there was a small underdeveloped bird. obviously fallen-out-of-its-nest. still-blind. i could see its heart beating, through its unfeathered skin. it kicked, & stretched its neck at amazing angles. (there was a nestmate, dead, a few feet away. it lay at an angle perfect for presentation in a butcher's case.)
i felt sick & went inside.
bean (putting in her contacts) said "that is the way nature works. the animals die & sometimes in pain." bean said "there is nothing you can do."
i said "it is right next to the statue of saint francis."
bean said "saint francis will carry it into bird heaven."
the bird was still alive still kicking at 10.15 when mischka came to the back door. i showed it to him and he said "there is nothing you can do."
at 12.05 the bird was still fighting & i began to beg GOD to let it die.
at 1.00 i told chris & he said "before i was born my dad ran over a dog & had to kill it."
i said "i can't stand to see it suffer but i don't have what it takes to kill it quickly."
chris said "i bet you do. all it takes is a towel & a hammer."
at 2.30 i slipped back to my house for parchment paper (don't ask). bird still alive.
singed old kitchen towel nobody will miss. & a hammer. a prayer to saint francis.
& there you go.
:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:i still feel sick. i am unsure about my ability to eat anything. mischka keeps saying "you did the right thing" but all day it had been "there's nothing you can do."
(this morning i talked with him about just war doctrine & the sixth commandment. listen to me.)
i'm overanalyzing. make it stop.
:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:what i am capable of. what i kept thinking of.
