The day the bird died

Ah, tcha! We have those smart all-know guys from the Green Balkans who are giving life and soul to be active and a called them. “Accordingly” (accordingly to what missy?!) it was not an issue they would deal with. Yeah? Such a pity I don’t have a blue whale in distress here. The Apus had trouble spreading its wings on the hot asphalt and I was more than prepared to see an issue in it. Unluckily, you can’t gain a sensational headline by saving a negligibly small birdie. What we had there was partially broken right wing and a lot of small flies on the poor buddie’s feathers.

These moments when your thoughts are banging on the side of your skull, just above your neck are the most horrible. You hear nothing but your own blood running like a stampedo and the entire feeling is as if you are behind the glass of an aquarium – the water side of it.

I was surrounded by a nervous silence when suddenly a figure appeared out of the Nothing. That may have lasted all life long and some minutes more until I saw her face. A girl approached to see if she could help. She took a cardboard out of her bag to make a comfort for the patient on its way to the vet. I wouldn’t make evaluations otherwise, but this was quite pressing. Hello! She is not from some green save-the-whatever organizations…See?!

The bird was in pain, the bugs were tormenting it. We made it to the vet. Jacklyn made what was possible and refused to be charged. Hello, once more! He is running a family business after all. Guys from above, you better stop this instant calling yourselves Green. A red giant greener than the entire establishment of yours. By the time the bird got a name and stayed with me for the next couple of days. Not very keen to eat. Yet, after two 41°C days it had some water from my fingers. Basically, the bird continued its attempts to make itself fly and though uncertain some successes was seen. It was interesting to see that it loves cookies and after a real snack, we paid the vet another visit. Everything was in order. On my way, we had a small talk on weekend topics and off we go to the oven of a flat we have this summer.

Back on the coach my little friend diligently did the flying drills and in a moment I was encouraged to bring it to its natural environment. I could have hardly waited for the daily heat to disperse into a fresh evening at 8:30. I placed the bird in its mobile home and we set off to the park. The Apus was breathing heavily in a pace with my hard searching for the place the Apus’ nest might have been.

I remembered throwing a glance occasionally to check if it is still OK. The last time I looked, I saw its small head drooping and his feet pressed to its body.

I remember quite well now the iron paws that strangled my throat. I couldn’t breathe at all. Tears started falling like a rain on November all the way back to my home. It was maybe, anger, maybe grief, maybe despair and helplessness. Maybe nothing of the kind at all. I had this odious feeling in my stomach. I suppose this is what it’s like when there is nothing else to be done. My Apus last place is under a wild rose bush. And here we are…sometimes the birds do not fly away. Not at all.