I tried to rescue a sparrow today, to no avail.
It was tiny, curled up and barely bigger than a golf ball. It had fallen from a nest about three metres above street level, onto the concrete. The little creature was only half covered in feathers and his stomach moved achingly with each breath. It was only membrane, barely classifiable as skin, and you could see things moving inside him with each movement.
I saw him and was too scared to touch him. I ran to a payphone and called a friend to ask what to do. I ran into McDonalds to grab some serviettes and a burger box.
When I ran back, his eyes were closed and he was barely kicking his little legs. I made a little nest in the box and scooped him up and carried him carefully back to my apartment.
We got inside; I cut the toe off a stocking and put him inside so his head stuck out. I cupped my hands around him and held him, trying to warm him up. He was cold as ice, but eventually he started perking up a little. I called him Gerald and sang lullabyes for him. I called the wildlife sanctuary so I'd know what to do. They assured me that he'd be alright. I mashed up breadcrumbs, milk and honey for him and tried to feed him with some tweezers. I turned on the heater, and taught my housemate how to look after him so that I could run to the shop and get a hot water bottle for Gerald to lie next to.
But he died. He closed his eyes and stopped breathing. We let him be for a good while, hoping that he was just sleeping so soundly that we could register his heart beating. But he turned cold, and when we gently moved him his head just lolled to the side like it was going to snap off his neck. I felt this rising wave of tension and pain coming up to my throat. My housemate wrapped Gerald up and made a little paper box for him. The box was so tiny, it was so thin and small that it looked like there was nothing inside it.
We buried him in the garden bed next to the train station. Housemate said, "Poor little guy," and we walked inside. He went back to playing video games and I sat in my room and cried.
It was tiny, curled up and barely bigger than a golf ball. It had fallen from a nest about three metres above street level, onto the concrete. The little creature was only half covered in feathers and his stomach moved achingly with each breath. It was only membrane, barely classifiable as skin, and you could see things moving inside him with each movement.
I saw him and was too scared to touch him. I ran to a payphone and called a friend to ask what to do. I ran into McDonalds to grab some serviettes and a burger box.
When I ran back, his eyes were closed and he was barely kicking his little legs. I made a little nest in the box and scooped him up and carried him carefully back to my apartment.
We got inside; I cut the toe off a stocking and put him inside so his head stuck out. I cupped my hands around him and held him, trying to warm him up. He was cold as ice, but eventually he started perking up a little. I called him Gerald and sang lullabyes for him. I called the wildlife sanctuary so I'd know what to do. They assured me that he'd be alright. I mashed up breadcrumbs, milk and honey for him and tried to feed him with some tweezers. I turned on the heater, and taught my housemate how to look after him so that I could run to the shop and get a hot water bottle for Gerald to lie next to.
But he died. He closed his eyes and stopped breathing. We let him be for a good while, hoping that he was just sleeping so soundly that we could register his heart beating. But he turned cold, and when we gently moved him his head just lolled to the side like it was going to snap off his neck. I felt this rising wave of tension and pain coming up to my throat. My housemate wrapped Gerald up and made a little paper box for him. The box was so tiny, it was so thin and small that it looked like there was nothing inside it.
We buried him in the garden bed next to the train station. Housemate said, "Poor little guy," and we walked inside. He went back to playing video games and I sat in my room and cried.
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