Several weeks ago, I was at work, filing brochures and writing things in Excel, when my manager came in from the parking lot.
“There’s a bird in the parking lot,” she said, frantically.
“Yes, that’ll happen,” I replied.
“It’s injured,” she clarified.
Being the intrepid being that I am, I left my coworker to man the desk and went out to rescue said bird.
Now, normally I have a pretty hands-off approach to nature. Nature, in my opinion, is something that can pretty much take care of itself (a lot more efficiently than humans can, in fact.) I am outdoorsy in that I like to drink on the patio, provided that it is nice out and not super buggy. I have been camping, but I have little desire to do it again.
However, being that my manager specifically asked me to do something about the bird, and being that my manager decides whether or not I get paid, I (intrepidly) forayed into the wilds of the parking lot with two plastic bags.
The bird, a robin, was sort of hobbling around and feebly flapping one wing. I caught it fairly easily and managed to get it into a box.
I named him Taco.
My coworkers and I decided he should go up to the local wildlife care center, so I went up there, dropped off Taco, filled out a form and left feeling like a good samaritan.
UNTIL THIS MORNING.
I got a letter in the mail telling me they had to put him down.
THEY KILLED TACO.
WHY would I want to KNOW that??
Hey, remember that bird you saved a few weeks ago that you felt good about and then pretty promptly forgot about? HE DIED. If you’d left him outside, he also would have died, but YOU WOULDN’T GET A MORBID NOTE IN THE MAIL.
ENJOY YOUR DAY, ASSHOLE.
Continued from here.
At some point the dog disappeared.
Marie wasn’t paying attention. The stream of tears and mucus and smeared mascara flowing from her face was coming too fast and too furiously to concentrate on anything other than trying to stem the waterworks. It was never ending. Marie kept trying to find the tissues in her purse, before remembering she no longer had her purse, which made her cry harder. She searched around her and found a large leaf, which she blew her nose into with a loud honking snort.
God, she hadn’t cried this hard since her former high school boyfriend had left prom with her former ex-best friend.
There was a rustling in the bushes. The dog reappeared, leaping from the long underbrush with his mottled tail held high. Marie gave a little shriek of surprise and threw her arms up over her face. It was a useless defense, because the dog managed to lick her face anyways, panting and mashing his huge head againse her chest. He seemed somewhat more exuberant than he’d been earlier, and although the light had change, Marie could have sworn he was less grey around his face.
“Milo, heel!” A gruff voice called, to which the dog immediately responded, bounding over to the side of the grizzled looking woman who had called him. She was leaning against a tree at the edge of the clearing, her tan arms crossed over her chest, which was not ample.
Marie stood up, sniffing.
“Who are you?” she managed in a thin whine.
The woman gave her a once-over, snorted, and jerked her head without speaking.
Marie gave her a long uncomprehending stare.
“Follow me, you halfwitted bimbo,” the woman finally said, “and stop sniffling. You’ll get us both shot.”