i found a young pigeon, still unable to fly, on friday. kept it for two days in my room. found it dead this evening. in such a short time, i realised i'd become rather attached to it, being the sentimental sop that i am. even though the bird would have died anyway if i'd left it alone, i still feel guilty for its death. this morning it looked so lifely, flapping away as if learning to fly, and the leg that was lame was getting better i thought. i fed it and went out the whole day. when i came back around six, it was dead in its cage, covered in red ants. i don't know why it died, and that's the worst thing. was it the food i gave that killed it? was it the ants, attacking the already injured bird? (what a horrible way to die) or perhaps it was already sick at the time i found it?
i had lots of pets when i was younger and had seen many of them die for various reasons. yet it never got easier. by this age i though i'd outgrown this kind of childish attachments, but it seemed i was sadly mistaken.