Yesterday morning I wrote Night Shift Is For The Birds. Not fifteen minutes after post a bird crashed into our sliding glass door. It got up and flew away. Moments later, another crash. Same bird?

I went outside to pick up the little creature. It seemed stunned and was having difficulty breathing. I held it gently in my hands. It gasped repeatedly, and finally twitched.

Welp, it passed away. Nothing I could do. With so many birds in our yard, I hope it didn’t have little ones to look after. But it was gone. Not sure if this was the same bird that hit the glass the first time or not. I’m thinking it was. It’s not the first bird to crash into our home over the years.

Unceremoniously, I tossed it into a plastic bag and dropped it in our outside waste bin. Really? Yes. I would’ve done the same if I had found it later in the day. As much as I hoped for it to be okay, like when the Hummingbird entered our home last month, this was not the case.

The only other time I held an animal as it died was our first guinea pig. That was different though. The kids gathered round as he took his last breath. He got a proper burial in a shoebox, as all small pets do. I guess animal death doesn’t affect me the same as it once did.