A Tale of Two Birdies

The other day, I saw a bird with its head stuck in a fence. It was simultaneously comical and awful--I drove down the road past its backside and wings frantically thrashing to be freed as another bird sat on the fence posts looking on. I drove down the hill, the sun a hazy orange ball just above the horizon, and I had a nagging feeling--OCD, God, human decency? I don't know what. But I turned back.

Q and I got out of the car and walked to the head-side of the bird in the fence. Its jet black eyes regarded us without emotion, so we walked around to the other side of the fence, and I instructed Q to take off her hoodie. I gently cupped the bird's body in my hands with the hoodie draped over them and lifted it (it was so light!) until its head slid all the way through the top of the slats. It wasted no time in recovery or gratitude, but shot straight into the sky as soon as it sensed it was free. The significance of what we'd done was lost on the Q, who was thrilled at having stolen an additional 10 minutes from bedtime and at being allowed to run in a grassy median alongside the Tuesday evening traffic.

It reminded me of another hilariously awful bird interaction which, I think, nicely sums up what life on this earth is like. Before Q turned 3, my mother was visiting, and we happened upon the neighbor's tabby cat deftly carrying a small, live bird in its mouth. I yelled and chased the cat, who dropped the bird just inside the chain link fence of a green house on on our block before beginning a cruel, teasing game of hide and seek with it. My mother and I tried to coax the cat away from its prey, who despite a small limp looked in pretty good condition, when I spotted the cat's owner across the street.

"Buster's playing with a bird!" I yelled at him, and he swaggered over (he always swaggers), boldly entered the yard belonging to the green house, and snatched up his cat. I held Q's hand as she, my mom, and I walked briskly back to the house to find something in which to place the bird while we decided what to do with it. We settled on an empty cardboard box from the mudroom and hurried back toward the scene, Q chattering incessant questions as we went.

We were just in time to see the little bird hop feebly into the road just as a large construction vehicle, undoubtedly carrying a bed-full of dirt from the berm project in Lion's Park, rumbled past the green house. I let the hand carrying the cardboard box drop to my side, and my mom and I paused on the sidewalk before turning back toward the house.

The cat who caught the bird, by the way, is also deceased.

And that, I think, is probably the story most fittingly analogous to life that I can think of.