Gunther and the house finch.

Gunther licks his chops.

Tuesday, March 28, @ 1316

I was telling Clara about the bird my dog Gunther caught the other day outside of my sister’s assisted living apartment in Nebraska.  I was headed out her patio door to the car and I noticed Gunther sitting comfortably on the grass with his feet sticking out.   Some feathers stuck out of his mouth!  With some difficulty I pried loose a small bird that my sister later identified as a house finch.  At first I thought it was newly fledged, but when I let it loose a fairly large wing began flapping.  Just the one wing because, turns out the other was broken with a bloody stump.  Compound fracture, I believe.

On the way back to Carol’s from the car I’m wondering if G. will eat the bird, big wing feathers and all, or ??  Chicken bones are supposed to be bad for a dog.  What about bones and feathers from a small bird?

This time the bird was between G’s front paws sitting quietly.  I saw on closer inspection the creature is alive but when I tried taking it away G pounced and the poor bird began crying with a sort of buzzing howl like it was hurting.  I  backed off.  Then I contemplated the vows every Buddhist must take to help relieve suffering.  Soon the bird was back between G’s paws again.

The short of it is that I got a paper towel, wrested the bird from G, and, with equal effort, resisted the urge to just fling it onto Carol’s almost-flat roof.  In a couple tries, (I was timid the first time) I wrung its little neck.  I held onto the bird’s neck tightly to ensure death — and an end to its suffering.

Feeling guilty, we (I) carried its carcass through the building to the dumpster near the building entrance.  Then Gunther and I returned to Carol’s.  I had a heavy heart but G. seemed just as carefree as ever.