Wounded in the Windows War of ’18
First, the bang. Awoke the dog, who went straight to the window, to see what had happened. I saw nothing, and shooed him back to his bed. Fast forward an hour, to the arrival of the second dog. She is more of a sight hound, and headed straight to where the victim lay on the ground.
No sirens, but the first responders headed over. Rescued the victim from a dog with too much enthusiasm. Went off to get a stretcher, and bring the victim inside. Yes, a small bird (but a golden one!) Wounded in the Windows War of ’18. Never learned its name (or rank).
After a couple of hours (maybe not that long, but I found the wait a weighty one), the bird shuddered into an erect position, and the team of avian health experts decided that the in-house stay could end. Outside, to the lawn (where the whole thing began). The bird stayed on its feet, long enough to stagger off and disappear into the woods.
No other, official updates have been offered, but I fear for the worst. We’ll never know if it makes it through the night without nourishing another predator. Perhaps, some day, there’ll be a ballad. For now, just a small box of a bed that will need to be dumped into the eco-waste container. In large part, this is why I refuse to watch the battlefield too closely. It seems like just last year that we discovered a cloud of plumage, after an aerial attack by the hawk. Life on the frontier.
