24 May 2006


Was just walking home, and round the corner from where I live I came across a nestling in the middle of the pavement. A few metres ahead, a woman with a child in a pram had stopped to look at it too. She came back and we had a brief conversation about what to do with it. The fall seemed to have broken one of its legs, and it didn’t have the strength to stand, let alone fly. We agreed that it would have been better it hadn’t survived the fall. Eventually, the woman carefully picked it up in a paper tissue, and moved it to the side of the pavement where it wouldn’t get stood on accidentally. Then she left, saying that she hoped it wouldn’t take long. To die, she meant.

Me, I didn’t leave, but stood watching it struggle. Its mouth opened and closed soundlessly as it lay on its back stretching its wings. It tried to roll over, but only got as far as its side, one wing flattened underneath it.

I couldn’t just leave it there to gradually starve to death or be carried off by a cat. So I made my judgement, and did what I thought had to be done. I killed it.

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