animals at work 



not the usual kind, the two-legged sorts vainly seeking an exterminator to give them release, but the other kinds.


other day, i'm dragging the garbage up the hill to the dumpster, when i see something falling flutter flutter, end-over-end down to the ground across the street. it' a bird, a mourning dove, which has flown right into the bronze windows of the repulsive plaza steps building. the bird rolls over and over itself down the hill, flapping helplessly.

this can' be good for it, so i roll my trash barrel back down the hill and go back inside. i get the second one, and a case box, and carry it all back out again. leaving barrel emptied in the trash corral, i cross the street. the bird is lying there still, eyes closed, but i can still see it breathing. i slip the box under it and push it against the wall, tip it in, and pop the lid on it. a quantity of skittering and flapping ensues, then fades, as i carry it back inside.

lifting the lid presently, the dove eyes me with an idiot gaze and a cocked head, but otherwise sits there quietly, wings folded, like a bird. what to do? i call the lakeside nature center after querying the kansas city humane society and find that they'll take it off my hands. a co-worker drives the creature down there. supposedly we'll get a postcard when the creature heals and is released, or dies suddenly and unexpectedly.


so today. leaving work. i bike over the hill and down again, to cross over into mill creek park on my way home. right in the gutter against the curb, inches from car tires, is a pretty little lady rat, panting heavily in the dust and the heat.

'well, rat,' say i, ' you aren't well.'

she's doubtless gotten into bait which is burning through her insides, so nothing can be done about that. but i bike down the block to pf chang's and get a pitch from the box out front, and take it back to her. using it like a giant mitt i scoop her up, rolling her over limply. she gazes up at me with a still bright eye, half raising herself, still gasping. she's clean and tidy and well fed, and doubtless carries enough germs to do me in. hail the rat king! she's dying.

i put her in those landscaped planters in front of the old sprint store, covering her with green viney leaves and those pink and purple flowers i call nine o'clocks*. the ground is cool and damp from the morning's watering, and she's away from the noise and the cars and her enemies. rats have been with us a long time, and deserve some respect. i'd rather she die in her torment in the cool earth than on hot asphalt.


animals at work. many a human one i'd let lie dead in the street, but not these.


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*i name plants whatever the hell i feel like calling them. 

Posted: Wed - July 20, 2005 at 05:52 PM             |

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