I often come upon adventure when I take my dog, Monty, for a walk. You would think we would avoid getting into trouble on one of the three routes we take daily, but more often than not, that isn't the case. There was the time a pack of dogs left their yard and circled Monty doing nothing to him while he screamed as though being murdered. There was the time he chased a small car into a snow bank and then looked back to me as though he had caught me a great prize. He weighs 18 lbs, but he gets me into more trouble than most full grown people I know.
But I digress. This tale is not about Monty, although he was present, it's about another animal. A bird.
A bird I had to kill.
Monty and I were on our walk, minding our own business (as we do), when a City truck drove by. I thought nothing of it and carried on my way until the truck slammed on his brakes and swerved to the side. I turned to look and saw a small bird lay on the road. The two had obviously collided leaving a clear winner.
A middle aged man stepped out of the truck with panic on his face. He looked like a 70s hippy throw-back with long silver hair and handlebar mustache. He warily approached the bird and explained he had tried to avoid her, but the bird had swooped right into his tires.
She was a small robin with a mottled brown chest and a badly damaged lower half. She breathed heavily, gasping for air, as she lay dying in front of us. The city worker's eyes began to mist and a single tear rolled down his cheek as he offered to take her to the Humane Society for help. I assured him it was too late for that. She was in her last moments.
The man was overwrought and stood dumbfounded at the little life ending in front of him. He looked to me for guidance and I found myself offering to take care of her. To end her suffering so as to end his. He agreed to hold Monty's leash (thank God the dog had not decided to be brave and eat the poor bird. I think that would have been the end of the man altogether.)
I had two waste bags in my pocket for the dog and used them because I'd always been told birds carry disease. I contemplated the fact I had no idea if this was true, but I wasn't taking the chance. I draped one bag over her body and one over her head. I picked her up gently and decided the most humane thing was to break her neck.
Being a city girl, I have never done this before. I assumed it would be simple.
I gently twisted. And twisted. And twisted. The bird's head just kept turning while she just kept living.
I started to panic. Not only was I not helping to end the bird's suffering, I was just torturing the poor thing.
I was about to give up when I pulled out instead of twisted.
POP! The head came clear off the bird.
I quickly put the bags back together so the tormented man wouldn't see the mess I made and ran to the garbage bin a block away to disperse of the corpse I had mutilated. I returned, assured the man it all went well and was not his fault, and walked as fast as I could away from the dump site.
I immediately messaged my sisters to tell them of the horror. They assured me I was a hero, despite the decapitation.
Next up, chickens.