Retrospective
Almost a week ago, I came home from dinner at holland village. The night was still young, I was looking forward to what I had to do, and getting down to doing it. As I walked to the lift lobby, I saw the outline of a figure perched on the floor. It looked like a toad from far, but when I got closer, it was a little bird, maybe not that little, sprawled out on the floor, its neck too weak even to support its head, with it's leg splayed out towards the front. I bent to take a closer look, and this little bird, weak as it was, tried to scuttle away in fear.
Thoughts raced in my mind for a moment, what should I do? What happened to this bird? The fast-approaching footsteps of another person interrupted me. but I thought about how precious life was, and how, in my idealism and all, what with being a medical student still, I should try my best to help. But most of all, I wondered how guilty and curious I'd feel, if I remained apathetic and left that bird there.
So I went up back home, got an old shoebox and some paper, came back down. Found that that kind soul who came after me placed the bird on a piece of cardboard with some paper acting as a blanket (at least he did something), and I took the bird home. A lot of that night was spent googling and reading about mynahs and what they eat, trying to get the little bird to drink or eat something, and an attempted cursory physical examination to figure out what was going on. Haha, but I know jack about birds.
Over the next few days, my parents joined in. Dad named him Jackie, I didn't tell them that I'd thought Easter was an appropriate name, for the significance of when he was found. So Easter/Jackie seemed to be recovering as the days went by. He didn't know how to feed himself. I had to carry him to a dish of water to get him to drink. We even tried feeding him milk with a syringe, which he gulped down ravenously, and sometimes spat out of his mouth equally enthusiastically. I really didn't think birds took milk, but my parents specially bought the milk and syringe for him, since he seemed to be a baby.
Mom and Dad chopped up sunflower seeds and grapes to feed him. Easter didn't like Bananas, but he loved grapes. There were days when he ate a total of 4-6 grapes, seems like a lot for a baby bird. Then again, maybe it wasnt enough. And all the while, I kept thinking about how momma birds supposedly regurgitate their food and allow their young ones to eat from their mouths. So we did what we thought was alright.
Easter seemed to be getting better over time. He gained strength enough to sit up, hold his head up, chirp a lot, maybe when he was hungry, perhaps when he was cold, maybe to call out to his long-lost mother, but he never gained the strength to walk. And from the looks of the feathers on his wings, he didn't look developed enough to fly. So this went on, everyday I came home from school, my dad would've fed him a little through the day, and I'd feed him dinner, change his newspaper, gave him a spray bath once, sayang him a little. I wonder how familiar he got with us, I'd like to think that he got less fearful of us whenever we picked him up.
It was cute though, one of the ways to stop him chirping when he refused to eat anymore was to carry him. He'd lay there in my hand quietly, apparently content, perhaps with the warmth of my hand, with his eyes closed. I never did give him the patience though, carrying him only for a few minutes before returning him to his shoebox home, where I rolled an old cloth in an attempt to provide some warmth for him.
Today was day 6. I came home, took a look at him. He looked a little weaker than usual, but I thought maybe he was just resting and not being very mobile. I went out for dinner with Felicia after that, and then mom messages me to say that he's passed on. I was shocked. I had all these hopes of letting him loose, watching him fly away, putting him back in the wild and checking to see if his mother came. But I suppose I was never that serious, never put my all into caring for him, didn't try harder to find out about nursing a sick mynah back to health. I thought time would heal it's wounds/illness. And I suppose that's why I feel the way I do now, not because I tried my best and Easter passed on, but because...maybe he passed on from my not doing enough. Should we have fed him milk? Did I not give him enough water? Was the milk too cold? The grapes? Did either of them spoil over time? Did I not bathe him enough? Should I have kept him warmer? Should I just have called friends who are vets who would've known much better than me to ask for advice?
I guess it's too late now. I rushed home to check on him, and he was completely still. His head hung low, beak touching the floor. I'd secretly hoped my parents got it wrong, because they thought he'd died on day 2 when they were leaving for church, but what were the chances? I have several perspectives floating in my mind now. "This was just a mynah". "Why didn't I try harder?". "There was little I could've done". "Or was there?".
And so for 6 days, Easter was a part of us. At least he's not suffering anymore now.
Thoughts raced in my mind for a moment, what should I do? What happened to this bird? The fast-approaching footsteps of another person interrupted me. but I thought about how precious life was, and how, in my idealism and all, what with being a medical student still, I should try my best to help. But most of all, I wondered how guilty and curious I'd feel, if I remained apathetic and left that bird there.
So I went up back home, got an old shoebox and some paper, came back down. Found that that kind soul who came after me placed the bird on a piece of cardboard with some paper acting as a blanket (at least he did something), and I took the bird home. A lot of that night was spent googling and reading about mynahs and what they eat, trying to get the little bird to drink or eat something, and an attempted cursory physical examination to figure out what was going on. Haha, but I know jack about birds.
Over the next few days, my parents joined in. Dad named him Jackie, I didn't tell them that I'd thought Easter was an appropriate name, for the significance of when he was found. So Easter/Jackie seemed to be recovering as the days went by. He didn't know how to feed himself. I had to carry him to a dish of water to get him to drink. We even tried feeding him milk with a syringe, which he gulped down ravenously, and sometimes spat out of his mouth equally enthusiastically. I really didn't think birds took milk, but my parents specially bought the milk and syringe for him, since he seemed to be a baby.
Mom and Dad chopped up sunflower seeds and grapes to feed him. Easter didn't like Bananas, but he loved grapes. There were days when he ate a total of 4-6 grapes, seems like a lot for a baby bird. Then again, maybe it wasnt enough. And all the while, I kept thinking about how momma birds supposedly regurgitate their food and allow their young ones to eat from their mouths. So we did what we thought was alright.
Easter seemed to be getting better over time. He gained strength enough to sit up, hold his head up, chirp a lot, maybe when he was hungry, perhaps when he was cold, maybe to call out to his long-lost mother, but he never gained the strength to walk. And from the looks of the feathers on his wings, he didn't look developed enough to fly. So this went on, everyday I came home from school, my dad would've fed him a little through the day, and I'd feed him dinner, change his newspaper, gave him a spray bath once, sayang him a little. I wonder how familiar he got with us, I'd like to think that he got less fearful of us whenever we picked him up.
It was cute though, one of the ways to stop him chirping when he refused to eat anymore was to carry him. He'd lay there in my hand quietly, apparently content, perhaps with the warmth of my hand, with his eyes closed. I never did give him the patience though, carrying him only for a few minutes before returning him to his shoebox home, where I rolled an old cloth in an attempt to provide some warmth for him.
Today was day 6. I came home, took a look at him. He looked a little weaker than usual, but I thought maybe he was just resting and not being very mobile. I went out for dinner with Felicia after that, and then mom messages me to say that he's passed on. I was shocked. I had all these hopes of letting him loose, watching him fly away, putting him back in the wild and checking to see if his mother came. But I suppose I was never that serious, never put my all into caring for him, didn't try harder to find out about nursing a sick mynah back to health. I thought time would heal it's wounds/illness. And I suppose that's why I feel the way I do now, not because I tried my best and Easter passed on, but because...maybe he passed on from my not doing enough. Should we have fed him milk? Did I not give him enough water? Was the milk too cold? The grapes? Did either of them spoil over time? Did I not bathe him enough? Should I have kept him warmer? Should I just have called friends who are vets who would've known much better than me to ask for advice?
I guess it's too late now. I rushed home to check on him, and he was completely still. His head hung low, beak touching the floor. I'd secretly hoped my parents got it wrong, because they thought he'd died on day 2 when they were leaving for church, but what were the chances? I have several perspectives floating in my mind now. "This was just a mynah". "Why didn't I try harder?". "There was little I could've done". "Or was there?".
And so for 6 days, Easter was a part of us. At least he's not suffering anymore now.
posted by Joel at 2:23 AM
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