Jaci Dawn

I’m sure he’s a Song Sparrow but it’s a little difficult to tell because of how mangled he is.

I was on my way to my car in the dark parking lot at work when I noticed him. He was on the wet pavement, doing a strange tumbling act. Because of his broken neck, he just leaned over and rolled, coming back up onto his feet every time. He never moved more than a few inches from where he started.

He was in the path of my car’s tires and dangerously close to tumbling out into the main parking lot traffic.

I put my driving gloves on and scooped him up. The first couple tries, he actually rolled back out of my hands but the third time, I cupped my hands so he couldn’t roll. He squawked once in terror.

I set him down in the tams and fir needles, away from the wet pavement so he could die in a less hostile environment (in my mind). Somehow, dying free in the low bushes where he spent his days hunting insects seemed a kinder fate than dying on asphalt in a puddle of cold rain with concrete curb walls around.

He quit struggling when I set him under the bushes.

I took two quick snapshots of him. That probably seems absurd but I wanted to identify him and I wanted to see what his wounds looked like under a bright light without further traumatizing him. I already knew he would die: trying to save him by putting him into a cardboard box and bringing him home to large, boisterous dogs seemed as cruel a fate as leaving him to die on the pavement.

My guess is that he was hit by a car traveling through the parking lot. What the extent of his injuries were, I can only guess: broken wing, broken neck, crushed head. So sad.

There are several Song Sparrows around the business park: they fly low to the ground and love the bushes. They have a beautiful song.