2 Dead Birds

The other bird isn't dead yet - the other Varied Thrush that I found - one dead, the other dying, within feet of each other today on our walk. The dying one I rushed back to my house and fed it honey-laced soy milk in a feeble attempt to revive it. It's sitting on my kitchen table in a cardboard box, in the throes of death. The already-dead one, I posed with other items procured on our walk today: a weird piece of driftwood, a bone from someone and a shmoo-shaped rock. Yes, that bird is dead. Hard to believe, seeing it's glassy eye. When I picked it up, it was still warm, but stiff. And why would two identical birds die within feet of each other? Suicide pact? Fight to the death? 

Yes, that is my house in the background, rotting. 

The dying bird occasionally thrashes around in its box. The mind may have gone on, but the body always fights it. It's instinct. Basic biology. If you've ever watched a creature die, it's not at all like "in the movies." The body fights it. It's too soon. Not now. This can't be.

Taking this picture of the dead bird reminds me of Mr. Audubon who killed every bird who modeled for his paintings. Oh, what a FUNNY STORY of him trying to kill the golden eagle so he could paint it... (sarcasm)