Feathered perfection

In the summer of 2010 I had my first close-up of death. Before then I had never lost a loved one that was near enough to my heart to leave an unforgettable imprint on my young spirit. I knew people that passed away, sure, but at the time I didn't completely understand the implications death carried with it, nor did I want to. But no human being can boast a life without loss. Loss defines gain, sorrow defines joy and in the long run, even though it seems like the end of the world in the moment, these experiences only strengthen us.

It was morning, maybe 10:30, and I was taking Tia (my dog at the time) for a walk. As we were leaving the driveway, I heard a high pitched cheap coming from the grass somewhere near my father's truck. Tia ran over and started pawing at something - trying to play or eat it I still don't know - and the cheaping reached a frantic pitch. I yanked on the leash, pulling her out of the way, and bent down to peer between the blades of green. At first I thought I was seeing things, but then I realized that I was indeed staring down at a tiny, down-covered bird. You have no idea of the excitement I felt. Gently picking it up, I cradled it in the dark recess of my palms and carried it into the house to find a nice little box for it to settle down in. Possibilities were racing through my head; maybe I'd actually get to raise this baby bird to adulthood! I would be it's "mother" and take care of it and even teach it to fly (not by jumping off the roof, don't worry...that's another story). My summer had just become interesting.

I thought to call the vet and ask an opinion on how to help it recover from the traumatizing event of getting pawed at by an animal fifteen times its size. I can remember the smile on my face drooping slowly as I listened to the woman tell me, "Just put it in a dark place and leave it alone. It'll probably die by the end of the day, birds like that don't usually make it." Well if anything, that only made me more determined for it to live.

And it did. After a couple of days I decided to name it Bella, after the nickname my best friend's italian crush had given her, and it fit perfectly; in my eyes this baby bird was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. I fed Bella soggy dog kibble mixed in with baby food, pinching up the concoction with plastic round-tipped tweezers. You should have seen her! Every time I brought her out into the sunlight, her little yellow beak opened automatically, as if she knew food was coming. She would gulp it down as fast as she could and then ask for more, tweeting excitedly. Within a week her fluff was disapearing, leaving delicate sleek feathers in their place, and her eyes grew brighter and more alert. The first day I found her, she could barely balance on the flat surface of four fingers, now she could jump up and down on my pinkie without a problem. 

One day, around the week and a half mark, I introduced her to my father's garden and wow did she love it! I dug up worms for her and tore them in half, teaching Bella how to feed herself by poking her with them until she snatched their writhing bodies from my hand. And after every meal, she would perch on the edge of a bucket and dunk her entire head into its watery depths, shaking the droplets in every direction. She then proceeded to actually drag herself through the dirt and even roll around at certain points. I swear she had some dog in her.

By the time two weeks had arrived, Bella was flying around the house, chirping her head off. Even when I took her outside and let her loose, at the sound of my voice she was at my side in an instant. One time she flew onto a high branch and my mother couldn't get her to come down so I went outside and sang her name in a light falseto, making sure she could see me. Within seconds she had landed on my foot, whistling all about her brief adventure and what I'm sure must have been a very detailed description of her bird's-eye view. She was magnificent.

Then the day came. It was very foreboding with windy gray skies scattering rain across the ground, almost like tears. I went into the garden, calling out to her as usual only to be met with silence. I knew there was always the chance of her flying off, and I was pretty confident that she would be able to fend for herself but then just as I was leaving, I saw something out of the corner of my eye.
There she lay, floating beak down in the water. I remember the flash of horror that ripped through me as I yelled for my father. He tried to revive her, but the poor limp body lay sodden in his hands, eyes closed, cold. I cried all that day, wondering how something so terrible could happen to such an innocent creature.

But that is the cycle of life. You are born, you live, you die, it's God's design. And despite the sad ending, I took away a beautiful experience from it all. You see, I got to witness perfection at its height. Bella was perfect. I often think back to that summer and wonder if I would have preferred to have never gone through those two precious weeks but I always come away with the same answer; no. You can't wish life away simply because of its inevitable death, what kind of world would that make? Instead we must appreciate the beautiful things we see and hold them in our memories, knowing that even though they pass on there will always be something fresh and wonderful to give us a whole new reason to smile.

So smile, and help someone else to do the same :)