I open the sliding door and step out onto the deck. I whisper, "Please give me a reason not to do this." I go down the steps and walk slowly across the yard. I feel like I'm walking in slow motion. I say, "Please miraculously say my name or 'hello' or 'pretty bird' or something, anything." But as I enter the flight cage there are no words, and I knew there wouldn't be. There are just the normal sounds of my beautiful crow, Stryder, acknowledging my presence.
I pick him up; he is not a tame bird and does not like to be handled. After a short while he calms down and I tell him I love him and that every thing is okay. I bring the syringe out of my pocket and tell Stryder he will be flying in heaven soon. He stares back at me and blinks. He's never had a reason to fear me and he doesn't fear me now. I hesitate. I say, "Maybe today isn't the day. Maybe if I wait a little longer things will change." But I know I would only be prolonging this heartbreaking act of love.
I insert the needle, pull back on the plunger. I have found the vein. I slowly inject the solution and Stryder's head falls to the side. Release. I sit with him for a few minutes and let the tears run down my face. My head knows this was the right thing to do. Stryder couldn't fly, could never have been released. Had he been in the wild he most surely would have met with a much worse fate. There are, after all, worse fates than death. But my heart has a difficult time with this type of situation.
When we speak about release we are usually talking about returning a wild creature to the wild. But there is this other type of release. Release from living a life of confinement when you should be soaring in the sunbeams. Release from living a lonely, solitary life when you should be with a community of your own kind, interacting and socializing.
I'm sad now, but I know I did the right thing. I'll miss you, my beautiful bird.
