We like walking around the college because it sits on hill and when we walk up the hill, we both comment on how out of shape we are, and in my case at least, it’s a reminder that I used to be in some kind of shape (relatively speaking). In any event, it feels gratifying, for me anyway, every time we make it to the top of the relatively small hill and I haven't ended up clutching my chest. I imagine that it's been gratifying for Sam that he hasn't had to run for help.
Last night, Sam was slightly behind me when we came down the hill that's on the backside of the college. Sam's never behind me. I'm always catching up, so it was pretty unusual, and I hadn’t really noticed it until I heard him say, “Oh no!”.
I turned to see him looking at a young dead bird on the edge of the road, right next to where we were walking.
This was not one of those tiny, newborn chicks. This poor thing must have been several weeks old. It was about six inches or so long and it still had a good bit of those soft, downy-type feathers, but it also had a lot of newer, more mature feathers.
Sam took a stick and gently poked him. “I just wanted to see if he was still alive” he said. “How come his eyes are still open?” So, we talked about that a bit and I asked Sam if he wanted me to bury him- even though I already knew the answer.
I found a small rock nearby and dug a hole in the soft, damp dirt and, using two nearby sticks, I lowered the bird in, covered him over and I put the stone on top.
Sam and I stood there for a minute or so, just taking this in. Sam asked me one more time about the eyes- then we walked to the car and headed back home.
Sam seemed fine for the rest of the night. But I'm pretty sure if I'm still thinking about it, he must be too. Tomorrow, I'll see if he wants to go back to the college or not. I don't plan on mentioning the bird, but maybe he'll want to visit or maybe he'll want to forget.
I'll leave that up to him.
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