In the middle of cooking dinner today, my daughter had to take the dog out. She came back with a wondrous look upon her face. It seems that while she was standing still waiting for the dog to do its business, a tiny bird landed on her hand, then hopped over to the other hand when she raised it even with the first. She spoke softly to the miniature creature, and it stayed until the dog made a sudden movement, then it flew away.
After telling me this, we rushed back outside to the same spot and waited, hoping for a recurrence. When that didn't happen, we came back in, frozen.
I fretted that it had to be a pet who had flown out accidentally and was looking for home. It's cold out, and I feared for it's tiny life.
I stepped into the dining room for a moment and heard a terrible WHAM! against the bay window. My daughter was standing there with her hands over her mouth. Something (a bird) tiny and dark had slammed into the window, falling to the ground.
She rushed outside and started sifting through the leaves, her father joining her. But the search was futile.
Was it the same bird? Probably. Trying to fly in, where it was used to living, safe and warm.
And just because we didn't find a tiny body doesn't mean it's not there, somewhere among the bushes and leaves. How something so small could survive such a hard, direct hit seems impossible.
Man, I hate unhappy endings.
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