killing a bird

it’s curling away from me, the twisted bird’s broken frame, and i mildly note its similarity to the oak propellors i’d make wishes on during my last year of high school in the fall, like an earthy sort of a shooting star. each one with its own potential, a future of upright greatness, if only it had not fallen onto a monoculture suburban football field. it floats on the lake surface. against the cliffs in the distance, my shot echoes back to me through my earplugs. alone, it passes through me, two ghosts briefly intraphasing until the next end. my dog springs into action, splashing through the still cold water. his tail’s swishing with every step.

the bird’s stopped moving, slowly submersing as its damp wings become sodden. the dog stills when its head is a way away. two twitches and it’s dead. not even a scream as it meets its end. the dog stands there in the water gazing towards the cliffs. wind whistles against the stone face and pushes his fur against itself where it’s not already soaked to the skin. he picks the bird up delicately, the same mouth he uses to hold my daughter’s hand.

we take the bird home to where she and my wife are napping. i start a fire in the wood stove as the sun goes down, intense radiant heat keeping our cabin as warm as it was during the day. While the pan heats, I skin and butcher the bird, rendering the excess fat in the flaky iron pan. our little girl shifts as the oil sizzles, and i send out a prayer of thanks for the bird from yesterday, keeping us all alive long enough for this one. we’ll thank it together before eating.

i sharpen the knife, scoring the breasts and pressing them against the hot surface to cook. soon enough, my lady wakes from the mouthwatering smell and looks over at me with admiration and contentment in her softly glowing eyes. her hair reflects the light like a halo. i’ve never regretted our simple life in the woods, she and our daughter all the art i need in this world. she hugs our girl close. i shuck off my overalls and sit on the edge of the bed, wrapping her in a one armed hug and kissing her temple, then our daughter’s crown.

the little girl, getting bigger every day, blinks her sweet, sleepy eyes open and smiles up at me.