I am not a bird person, but I could not resist the little bird that I had found huddled in a discarded boot in the snowstorm. I put it in my inside pocket to keep it warm while I went to the pet store to buy a cage for it. The pet store was odd; they sold animal furs and hides there, as well as cages and turtles and dog food. The lady behind the register invited me to come back into the special bird room, so I stepped quickly through the snake aisle into the room at the back of the store, feeling the bird flittering ta wings in my pocket the whole time. Inside the huge room were many empty cages and all of the bird supplies; slight squawks and chirps filled the air. I let the bird climb out of my pocket a little way, trying to keep my hand over it to capture it for the transfer, but it burst free of my grasp and flew out into the room. As I stood up to follow it, I heard a triumphant screech. Some kind of falcon swooped down, out of nowhere, plucked my bird out of the air, and now sat in a bird stand made of reclaimed driftwood, balancing on one claw and holding my bird in the other. I moved forward to get my bird back, but I could see it was already dead. At the front of the room, the lady seemed unsurprised when I came up to her, crying. That happens in here a lot, she said. And when I got home and told my roommates about it, they just laughed at my distress.
Posted on: Fri, 02 Jan 2015 12:28:13 +0000
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