Somehow, a Carolina wren managed to get into our home. We aren’t certain, but we think it might have found a way in through an opening that previous owners had cut into the side of the house by the back porch, a favorite place of these birds. The poor little guy came into our home, and with four cats, the outcome was never going to be good. To top it off, Pete was home at the time, and even the short time that it took for him to rush in to see what the ruckus was about was too long. The little guy was already gone.
Needless to say, Pete was devastated, thinking he should have realized that the hole in our house might allow a bird to get inside, that he should have come quicker to see that the cats were doing, that this could have been prevented if only…I didn’t know what to say to Pete. I felt badly for him, for the bird, and for our cats. All they knew was that Peter was upset and that his feelings involved them. Mouse let me hug her (she never does that), Seamus stayed away from Pete’s lap while he graded (he’s always there), and Ciara just hid. They didn’t understand what they had done.
Pete went out and covered the hole with hardware cloth right away. The next evening, when I got home from work, we buried the bird in my garden with a small cairn over the grave. That day, all Pete heard was the wren’s mate calling. So we went outside and tried our best to let the bird know what happened. I think it worked; strangely, I felt that the bird understood what we were trying to tell him or her: that we were so sorry.
Just reminds us that everything on this earth is precious.
Until next time.