Yesterday, as I was gazing lovingly at my progeniture quietly abandonned into Morphee's arms and those of her beautiful mother, a bird entered the picture.
His motivation, either dark or friendly will never be known, and it is with great force and velocity that he violently slammed in our bow-window. We startled in horror, and I ran to the window to look for the bird. As I couldn't see it, I ventured outside to further explore. And I found him laying flat on his stomach panting heavily.
[This interactive story has 2 endings to choose from]:
A - I rushed inside panicked and asked my wife what to do. I returned to the wounded bird with a shoe box filled with newspaper. I picked up the victim with shaky hands, fearing any sudden move on his part. I crawled him in my hand, pat him lovingly and laid him in the box, while keeping to warmly pet and comfort him. At which point he sighed a last long breath and died. With tears in my eyes, I looked for the shovel and for a nice spot in the backyard, where I buried him with a few last words, and the feeling that at least he died being loved and cared for by a friendly hand.
Godspeed little bird.
B - The flying rat probably hemoraged to death. I hope I didn't get any disease touching the damn thing.
