It was 11 ish in the morning; I was Stumbling Upon web pages as usual and basically procrastinating when mom came into my room. She had gone upstairs to hang the wet clothes to dry but had rushed back without doing so for some reason.
Our building is still under construction and we had people working on the top floor. They’ve been using a open barrel filled with water in which a crow had fallen. My mom had noticed the crow struggling to get out of the barrel and had placed small wooden poles and boards thinking the crow will climb out with some foothold.
This was of no avail because the crow must have fallen inside a while back for its wings were completely wet and it could barely keep itself afloat let alone climb out. This is when my mom had come down and told me what happened.
I knew I had to get it out of the barrel myself and took a bucket and started ascending the stairs. As soon as I reached the barrel I peeked inside to see it. There was no fight left in it and it was gasping for air barely able to keep it’s beak above the water. There was no movement in it’s torso and it was dying.
I suddenly realized that the bucket I’d brought was too big to fit inside the barrel and started running downstairs praying to God to keep it alive for a few more seconds. I found a smaller bucket and rushed back up and took the crow out.
All of this had happened within 15 seconds. Yet, 15 seconds too late as it turned out. The crow lay dead in front of me and I felt a sudden rush of anger, helplessness and sadness all at the same time. A flurry of questions raging inside my head:
Why the hell didn’t I kick the barrel over? Why the hell didn’t I take a smaller bucket the first time? Why the hell didn’t I use my hands to get the bird out? Why couldn’t he (or she) hang on for 10 more seconds? Why……????
There were no answers, only a terrible sense of guilt as I stood staring at the lifeless body of an unlucky bird.
Today, I killed a crow.
