I’m not sure what the norm is, but somewhere life, let’s say my mid forties; I’ve begun to care less and less about the human species and more about the wild life we disturb daily on a global front. Maybe in my reality the animal kingdom has become whom I can coax to truly listen to me. Those that will allow me a word in a simple conversation. Those beasts of paradise that I can actually influence in all that I’ve mistaken in my own life. Those K-9s that sleep on my Sealy Posturpedic while I’m roused out to the couch.
An odd beginning to a column I know. So I’ll get to my point… eventually. Today I was doing my twice a week routine of picking up my four dog’s waste off of the rear lawn. ‘Dudy’ duty if you must. Four rather large dogs – thus eliminating, in my educated estimation, about 10lbs of exhaust per week. FYI: the bigger the dog the bigger the dog piles.
Curiously odd to me, the four of them combined eat about 20lbs of food per week. Where does the other 10lbs. go? To their thighs I suppose.
Anyway, as I sauntered about collecting my home manifested fertilizer, I happened upon a small bird it appeared. I had to look closely; it was indeed a newly born warbler. I assumed belonging to the brood of screeching Blue Jays that have taken roost in a roll of roofing felt left in the rafters of my open side carport long ago.
As I stared in horror at the happenings before me, I noticed that the unsuspecting babe was being eaten alive by red ants. Half of the poor thing was already skeletal remains, but the little fella was still barely waving one already taloned leg in what seemed a plea of ‘I give up’… I’m tapping out… and please ants, hurry up in this evolutional gap.
I took it upon myself to end his evident misery. To end his only hours long existence here on earth. For that horrific moment I played God, if you will. That of which I’d never imagined or experienced before. I struggle with what God really means to me. But to intercept a situation and perform what I feel was a humane ending to the obvious suffering of a real living being; the hierarchy of life became more painfully obvious than ever.
At first I just finished my task at hand and carried on forward. Later in the day, on my third happy home owner project list, I sat on my just assembled park bench reflecting upon the life that I had ended this morning. I actually fell apart over this little bird that was doomed from his uncharted onset. Doomed from his proud elation in finding that of which we’ve all once longed for - the uphoria of exiting our own nests. Finally escaping the incubation period and safety of his Mother’s well kempt house… just like ours was.
In a peculiar sort of way, my well unfurled sail fell limp. I was stagnant in un-chartered waters. Wind not a-blowin’… sure pergatory.
I’ve since examined web info on the southern Blue Jay and learned that one of the possible 2-5 newborns “leaves the nest”. I suppose I happened across that unnamed little one today. I also learned hat the Southern females move around to 82% more suitors compared to their Northern neighbors at 42% in infidelity. As in the human spiecies, the Southern gals are filthier and sluttier! Kidding, relax.
So, I’ve just returned from our ill positioned inner city feed store – four bird houses in hand. After I hung them in the Blue Jay’s territorial area, I respectfully dubbed the namesake of each bird house the names of my four dogs. As my grief then sorrow subsided, I knew in my heart that I’ve done the right thing. I once again was reminded that I can again still feel.
As a very real side note, I’m painfully reminded of the fact that it always takes an Army of hundreds… even untold thousands (of we ants), to topple the well trespassed, fraudulant big guy. For his own sake, I hope he never falls from his secure perch. Or do I!
All the best,
Queen ant
Wombat1.wordpress.com
http://www.birds.cornell.edu/birdhouse/results/box_reoccupation
