Once upon a time, we checked a book out from the public library entitled The Dead Bird. It was actually a very amusing children’s book, and we read it several times. The story is about a group of children playing outside, and they happen upon a dead bird. They pick it up, and notice that it is not yet cold. They all rally together and have a funeral procession into the woods, say a little prose of parting, and place a special marker on the spot where they burry it. For a time they frequent the grave, but then slowly forget.
Well, it seems like I cannot escape this storyline in my reality. For the past month, I seem to happen across dead things whenever I go outside. First, my raspberry bush died mysteriously. Then there was a baby bird fallen out of its nest on the sidewalk. I almost stepped on it, so of course, I had to burry it. Then the next day, a cat had unburied it and I had to do it again. Then,a few days later, my tomato plant. (See previous posts). Then, the boys found a decapitated mouse body (they told me it was a rat) in the yard. I almost stepped on that about 12 times, so I had to burry that, too. It was totally gross. You could see its lungs. Then, while sweeping up some pulled weeds, I discovered a snail that I had probably stepped on. Blah!! And finally today while watering the flowers on the balcony, the boys told me there was a dead bird up there, so I had to go up there with a shovel, and bring it down, and burry that, too. I haven’t put a marker on the shallow graves, but I don’t seem to have a problem returning to the sight, albeit not to visit, but just to add “guests.” What will there be tomorrow?? Hedgie? Is there a patron saint of dead animals? I need one. Or maybe just the saint of living animals, to keep them alive so I can stop adding to the animal cemetery.