Friday, July 17, 2009

Delivering Papers (Or, Is There A Birdie Heaven?)

Time to write one of those anecdote thingies I’ve been promising. ^^; Well, here goes…

If you guys don’t know by now, I make a living[1] delivering papers. And, as you guys also know, I’m rather lacking in what I call “good judgement” – brash, rude, lazy, a procrastinator, not looking where I leap, don’t know when to quit, always got to be right…

Wait, where was I?

Oh yeah, delivering papers.

One night[2], I saw one of the usual cats[3] sitting in the middle of a driveway. Now, this kitten was (one might say unusually) voracious/eager, so to see her just sitting in the driveway seemed, well, odd. Still, I walked up and stroked her head. Even more unusually, she didn’t move at all.

Then I noticed what was in front of her.Sparrow at its' last vestiges of life.

There was this poor little sparrow, lying sprawled against he pavement. It’s eyes were still open, and for a moment I stared at it, not realising I was still stroking the kitten.

And then they blinked, and I realised with horror what had happened – that it was still alive, and the last thing this poor magnificent creature would ever see is big evil Man congratulating his proud pet on another kill.[4]


If you’ve ever looked into a small birds’ eyes, you’d know they contain in them a sort of wonder, a curiosity, a spark in their beadyness that few others posses. I guess you have to be observant when the world is out to get you and your food’s smaller than your head. To see that spark there, even at the last vestiges of life, really gives this feeling of… great sadness, I guess. It sobers someone to the reality of things that we ignore day-to-day.

But there’s also another thing I saw in that little birds’ eye: hope. A hope for the future, that there’ll be no more death and killing and disease and poverty…

A hope that tomorrow’s going to be better.

Do not go gentle into that good Night,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

-- Dylan Thomas



[1] Of course, I don’t mean a proper living (I get to board free with my 'parents :D), but $20 each week isn’t too shabby IMHO.
[2] Oh, um, Boss, did I say night? I meant day! At 4:30p.m., even! ^^;
[3] It’s odd - some cats like me, some are scared of me, and some like to put stitches in my hand. ^^ Just kidding about that last part, that’s what my doctor does.
[4] “Man” here is the same Man who killed Bambi’s mother. Yeah, we’re a horrible bunch. (And that it’s not my pet is beside the point, we’re talking about the sparrow’s perspective.)