Schnoozy the Dispatcher

I woke up this morning to find an agonised Piglet pacing the glass doors in the study with both Fatty and Gata, our Russian Blue cats pacing with her. Gata had snatched a dove from the air a few minutes earlier and was trying to get back out there to finish the job. Piglet was pacing because she thought that something needed to be done about the mangled bird outside on the lawn but could not bring herself to go near it and look it in the eye knowing it was her cat that did the damage. Fatty was sure there was something going on and he was pacing because everybody else was pacing but actually just wanted his second breakfast.



Enter Schnoozy the Bird Dispatcher!



'whats going on', I asked? 'Cats caught a dove. You have to go and put the bird out of its misery', I was told. Now I am no killer, especially of things smaller than me that would not even be a meal in a time of need, but somebody had to do something. I went out, approached the traumatised bird, picked it up and walked around to the garage down a long passage, not wanting to make a spectacle of the coming execution. The bird had most of its body feathers removed and was bleeding from its neck, back, wings and chest. It was a bald, bleeding living mess.



The dove looked at me with big frightened eyes and its breathing was shallow and fast. I tried hard to relegate its coming death to insignificance in the global and cosmic scheme of things but could not. It was here looking at me, in my hands, it was significant. Then I got the bright idea that since it was breathing so hard, if I squeezed it slightly, it might pass out from lack of air and die from a loving hug. Psychotic killer that I am, I gave it a firm snuggle and it actually started working. The poor creature's eyes opened wider and it opened its beak to try and gulp down its last breaths. As its fate became obvious to the bird, it started feebly struggling for its life for the second time that morning. I stopped immediately, horrified, and popped the poor bird into a cardboard box on a shelf and left in a state of self-loathing.



'Is it done?' asked the Piglet and I shook my head and said that I couldn't do it and that I might need professional help for my dark issues. We put it into a cat travel case since no bird cage was available, popped a bit of water inside and spent the next hour of our Sunday searching for bird seed in the local convenience stores. After securing seed and expecting to find a dead bird at home, we got back and discovered the bird had perked up a bit. It seemed to be more alert and and had drunk a little water. Piglet opened the cage and tried to put a bowl of seed inside. The hunted little dove saw its chance to escape the nightmare and bolted. It hobbled around the room and eventually got airborne, made a wonky beeline for the open doors, flapped for its life and made it into the tree one yard away.



Now I don't know whether the poor guy is dead tonight or whether he is telling his buddies about his twin escape from death. Either way, I am glad he had the chance to live or die on his own terms and not by my shaky, murderous hand. I am happy that he made that break. It must have been one hell of a rush! Mostly I am relieved that I didn't deprive it of that last chance to live.



Good luck, my plucked and mauled little friend and stay the hell away from cats and humans if you made it...