The text came early that there was a loud crash and something tragic might have happened. Then there was the plea for help, "I don't think he made it. He must have flown into my window. Can someone please help me?"
I promised I would, and next to the Northern Flicker who found a similar episode at my house a year earlier, this was as brutal as they come. I've never seen such carnage at the sight of a feathered accident' even a hose didn't help clean up.
A coffin was found, a boquet of drying flowers was created, a few prayers were sent up to the Great Whatever, and then a few bars of Elton John's Rockin' Robin were sung in his honor. Tears were shed, and a proper burial was done along the Long Island Sound. As the congregation left, a few stray cats peered their heads from the woods. We asked them kindly, "Stay Away."
I asked Skeleton-Frog to be with me for the transition and, cleaning up, I tried to create a rainbow bridge from the hose washing away human sins and shining sun throwing its armbands to the pavement. A statue of St. Francis looked on, "Lord, please guide the brave spirit of our brother Robin to fields that are always green and full of seed, where the insects are plentiful but not too swift, and the skies are ever clear for flying; and make us all more aware of the presence of your beautiful creatures, whatever form they may take."
Amen.
Life is too precious, and such endings deserve human kindness and respect.
"Bless that animal." As we said, "Bless this bird."
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