From the Quill: Little Brown One

Thinking still of Tiger, yesterday, I remembered something I wrote a little over ten years ago. (I include it below, but it's not free for the taking, people, all right? …unlike some of the more-crappy things I've written and posted here. Besides, I have the drafts.) 

Since his death, I find that I keep stumbling over the little Tiger-stuff – which is a typical experience when someone's left us, whether moved across state lines, or overseas, or on to their maker... all of which I've endured (and survived) with loved ones. E.g., for me it includes even little things like scratching his jowls while dinner heats up in the microwave, pushing his fluffy tail out of the popcorn-bowl while watching TV, and so on. 

When I laid him to rest Friday afternoon, it was following on a couple hours of very difficult, frustrated digging through rocky backyard soil that really is more rock than soil. Two hours' work had yielded barely enough depth and breadth for Tiger and his soft blanket and toys (but not the cat-pillow that should have gone along), and I still worry that it wasn't deep enough, that some scavenger may yet come along and undo the work. So atop his low, broad mound (which also describes his own generous shape in life, come to think of it) I set four large paving-blocks; they'll stay there through the fall and winter; come spring, I might just expand Mother's garden to enclose his own plot, and lay down a couple more inches of topsoil and flowers… maybe catnip. 

Dr. Tiermann's office had offered to cremate him and return the ashes (90$), or include him with other animals being cremated (25$... and no ashes back). This would have saved me that labor for certain, but I begrudged the expense… and something about that far-easier option felt a little like a cold return for all the years he's warmed and entertained the family. Nor would I have considered simply putting his body in a bag and leaving it out with the trash, and his last load of used litter. 

No. 

Once before this, on a much smaller scale, I was confronted by an animal's body, and what to do with it. During a lovely sunset in late June of 1997, I heard an odd scrabbling-sound on the concrete balcony, and stepped outside to find a wild English sparrow (I believe she was female) flapping around in some desperation. She hadn't flown into the glass, so I had no idea why she was there, nor why she was in distress. 

But I picked her up, held her, and realized she was dying… and held her while her life ebbed away to nothing. Then I discarded her body sadly in the dumpster (no yard there in our third-floor apartment), feeling while doing so that I'd done something really vile and dirtying to something pure and pretty. 

Then I went inside and wrote a verse to this little bird, and cried. 

Little Brown One 

Little brown sparrow,

fluttering, feathering on my balcony,

As you scraped around, flapped about,

gently I picked you up,

Held your quivering fluff in my palm,

felt the life still filling your chest.

Eyes still open, you must have seen me;

and crying out, did you thank or fear me?

All I could do was hold you;

All I could do was stroke you;

All I could do was whisper and soothe.

I told you it was okay;

twittering myself, I told you to sleep,

To dream and fly again,

the sunset pink and peach around us.

Your feathers were soft as angels,

your tail still twitched, eyes closing;

And I said, Let go of the hurt,

It’s okay. It’s all right;

Let it all go, Relax, Relax,

Be at peace, Fear no longer.

There was nothing I could do!

There was nothing I could do!

(nothing beyond my own mortal powers)  

Little brown one, tan and soft and fluffy,

cupped dying in my hand:

All I could do was watch the life leave you,

the breath go away, the eyes squeeze shut;

All I could do was mourn your gentle passage,

and whisper that your life was special.

Thank you for coming to me!

Thank you for giving me your last moments!

I hope you lost your fear, and knew me,

knew I wished you only peace and comfort.

I hope your last thoughts were free of pain,

threshold of a dream of flight unending.

Thank you for trusting me!

Thank you for living those last moments!

I can only feel honor that I held you,

privilege in guiding you home;

I can only wonder why it all happened,

feel tears that I watched – held – you die.

It felt to me so evil, after such beauty,

to cast your little corpse away.

But I knew, I think, that it was okay;

that while your body rests with the trash

Your spirit, your soul, is still flying,

and your song fills the skies of heaven.

I wish I were an artist!

I wish I could encase your body in gold,

enwrap you forever in glass agleam!

I wish I could show all the world your beauty,

or hear even once your song...