The circle of life, I guess

Tuesday morning on our run, Cricket dove into the bushes and came out with a *very* young baby bird, still with pin feathers. I told her to drop it, and she did, but it was still struggling. I picked it up, and it immediately relaxed, then within a few seconds died in my hand. Even though I know that wild birds produce far more than survive, I could not help but grieve for this one. Such a sweet, precious, trusting thing. Even looking at these photos still makes my heart feel a little soft and a little heavy, like a half-inflated water balloon.


I carried it home, took some photos, and buried it in the yard. Then I placed a heart-shaped rock over it (I collect them) and texted MB, who is a wildlife biologist who in fact specializes in birds, although more shorebirds. "Can you please tell me the cold, hard truth? Is this some ground-nesting bird that she killed? Or did it fall out of a nest too young and it would have died anyway?"



"I'm not going to love her any less, obvy (hopefully that was not necessary to say). But I just feel like my heart needs to know. I understand that it's just instinct for her. Autumn or Linden would have gobbled it down before I even knew what it was, so who knows, they might have killed a dozen of them."

She wrote back: "It is a passerine, a perching bird. Sometimes they spend time on the ground before they are fully flighted, but this one probably did blow or fall out. Not enough feathers, and it does not even have eyes that work yet... So her treasure would have died either way, and she probably ended its suffering. And no, you did not have to tell me you would still love her just as much. You are one of the best dog moms I know!"

"PS Passerines are rarely left unattended, as both parents incubate. So if no adult was freaking out in the area, that is another sign it fell out before you arrived."

We had a nice, heavy rainshower last night, and the tiny grave is already starting to blend in with its surroundings.