A few weeks ago I posted about a baby bird my son had rescued in the street. (You can read about this here) We were all caring for it and it slept in the cat-travel cage. However, last week, I noticed that the little thing was losing it's joie de vie. It looked listless and although it always opened it's beak for the syringe of porridge, it hadn't uttered a sound for days.
I voiced my concern to my husband who offered to build a cage so that it could live outdoors during the day. We reckoned that if it could spend time in the sun on the lawn, it would thrive. He proceeded to make the cage and every day I'd pop into the garage to check up on the progress.
Eventually the cage was ready and together with granddaughter (who with her three-year-old brother spent most of day in the garage asking: "Is the cage ready yet, Granddad?") we placed the bird inside the cage. It had a secure lock and because it was open at the bottom (the legs sink into the lawn), it could be moved around the garden.
However, that evening when I closed the bird up in it's indoor cage for the night, I noticed it kept wobbling onto its side. Propping it up in an old dish towel, and covering the entire cage with a baby blanket, I said a silent prayer for its survival.
Alas, next morning when I checked up, the bird was dead. I left it in the cage and it wasn't long before Granddaughter came into the kitchen where my husband and I were quietly discussing this sad event. She was holding the stiff little body in her hands and with tears rolling down her face, she said, "It didn't survive, Gran" I gave her a hug and asked if she'd like to bury it in the garden. When she nodded, I looked at my husband who said, "Come along then and we'll bury the bird in Gran's garden"
I went through to my bedroom to watch the sad proceedings through the window. I could hear my husband's deep voice telling our granddaughter that her bird is with Jesus and much better off there.
Granddad buries the bird while granddaugher and the dogs look on