Early at my desk. Back door open for pets. Suddenly a loud squeaky toy. But our pets have no squeaky toys. Rush to dining room, drag the little dog from hell by its tail from underneath the sideboard. In the next moment cradle in my hands a small brown songbird, upside down, damaged, panting furiously. I carry it to side wall. Its eyes blink, look at me. I imagine healing energy from my hands, but it looks like a goner. I gently place it – not upside down – atop the wall amongst squash plants, safe from cats.
An hour later, it’s gone. Apparently not a goner after all.