Where do old birds go to die...

A few months ago, one old laughing dove came to my garden in the morning. He seemed very thirsty. We generally get a lot of laughing doves to sip on the cool waters of the bird bath. This one looked particularly pensive. I watched him from my window. He drank water and then crawled quietly under the raised decking of the zen garden. I thought he wanted to rest in the shade, so I postponed watering the garden to leave him undisturbed. 

After a few hours, my cat woke up and lazily walked into the garden, stretching out and yawning at every step. She began sniffing suspiciously under the decking. I ran outdoors to save the bird from this “serial killer hunter tigress” cat of mine. But the bird seemed to be still asleep. He wasn't moving at all !!! 

I remembered him drinking a lot of water earlier that morning …And at that moment, I realised he had been sipping his last water. He had breathed his last…He came to my garden to go into deep slumber forever…

I secretly buried him later that day  in one of the flower beds of the community garden. I did not tell anyone. Somewhere I thought, a bird dying in my garden could be a bad omen. 

Where do old birds go to die? This line from the book “The Ministry of Utmost Happiness” by Arundhati Roy, had made me go into quiet contemplation for many days.

And then I realised, the old bird came to my garden to die… He felt comfortable, breathing his last, closing his eyes for the last time , in the soothing shades of my garden! I watched him lay unmoving on the moist bed of soil and leaves. 

I  have had many great memories with laughing doves in this place. A pair had their nest on the terrace of my earlier penthouse. They have even made an appearance in my book, Amaira, the little woman, posing for one of the pictures that compliment a poem! 

I have also watched many laughing doves stop laughing when they were caught by my extremely agile cat. I have seen them being dragged around , hanging out of her blood stained mouth. , with their feathers falling one by one. While I cannot blame the cat for her natural instincts, I was relieved that this dove at least wasn't murdered.  

So when death seems near, just like us humans, old birds try to fly to a calm place, where they feel comfortable to let it all go. He passed away silently, peacefully in his favourite spot. I'd like to believe that. 

Rest in peace, you laughing dove.

Keep laughing.

:: As featured in my book , Amaira, the little woman ::
 

:: Illustrated by my son Abhiir when he was 6 ::