Intentions fall to the floor: goodbye, Peepers

Last week, a friend rescued a baby sparrow that was too young to care for itself. She brought it home, set it up in a box, and chose an appropriately gender-neutral moniker for it: "Peepers".

She talked to wildlife rehabilitators and read what she could find on the internet, and went to work feeding the little bird every hour. I was able to set her up with a loaner bird cage so Peepers could sit in the back yard and watch and listen to the other birds. On days when my friend had to take her husband to the hospital for tests, she left the cage in her car and returned to it every hour to stick to the feeding schedule.

She took the bird into the grass and tossed him up in the air sometimes, so that Peepers would flap his wings to strengthen them. One day, a pair of sparrows came down to sit on top of Peepers' cage, and they talked to him for a while. Everything seemed to be moving in the direction that everybody hoped.

And then yesterday, in a freak accident mixed with a little bit of canine mischief, my friend's dog ate Peepers for lunch. It wasn't the dog's fault, as she was just following her instincts. It wasn't my friend's fault, as she thought the caged bird was safe where it was and had taken what seemed to be appropriate precautions. But we're all left sick to our stomachs. Helpless, and guilty.

I can't imagine the feeling my friend must have had when she discovered the scene. The dread, panic, sadness and fury must have been overwhelming, and I know the feelings haven't subsided. But we know it will pass in time.

I hope it was quick. I hope you didn't suffer, little Peepers.