Mike Bones' Bird

A Mile Post 604 story

This story was first posted as a paid tier perk. There’s also some podcast episodes and little fiction bits that are exclusively posted for paid tier members. Firebox Dreams and The Watchman Journal are and will be free to read. Thanks for reading and for supporting my work in whatever way you do. -Mick

I killed Mike Bones' bird tonight.

Mike trotted up while I was smoking my pipe on the wharf. I'd managed to get to work a little early after spending part of the morning at my wife's family reunion. The Cornett Family, from whichever side of the mountain they are as there were unrelated Cornetts on both sides, is large and reunions are difficult. Amanda and I have been together 12 years and I still don't understand large family dynamics. My extended family, on both my mom and dad's sides, has either the good grace or geographic and financial limitations to carry out large scale reunions. I love my wife, though, and my immediate in-laws. Plus, my daughter and her family were there. So I was reflecting on my morning when I saw Mike Bones. He was carrying something in cupped in his hands.

"We were doing Man Over Board Drills," he said. He showed me an injured whipperwill.

"Matt told me to put it in one of the flower pots."

I watched him place the bird precariously in one of the cement flower pots built into the wharf wall. He perched it on a branch of the lingering weeds. I pointed out that the bird would probably fall when it tried to fly and that it might stay longer if he placed it in the dirt.

"I want him to be able to dry off, " Mike answered.

And while we were standing there talking, the bird tried to fly on its broken wing and took a header on the wharf. Mike scooped the bird up and placed it, again carefully, in the same planter.

There was something so gentle about how Mike handled the bird; there was a genuine concern. It made me think about a robin Amanda and I tried to save once. It had fallen out of one of the giant old maple trees behind our house. We picked it up, set it in one of the garden beds to protect it from the cat and dogs, gave it some water and suet. It promptly hopped out of the raised garden bed, trying to fly.

I told Mike Bones that the whipperwill would try and fly, but that it was good he saved it and gave it a fighting chance.

That night after the cruise, I stepped off the Belle to smoke. I walked over near the wall where I last saw the bird. It wasn't in the planter, but had hopped out in an attempt to fly. This time, it had broken its legs in the fall and was trying to move along the ground using its wings as proxy legs. But every attempt just ended with the bird stuck on its back.

I set it right three times. Each time it ended up on its back. Mike Bones was busy with the deck crew cleaning up the boat. I knew the bird would eat a few bugs but always end up on its back. The injured wing was getting more injured.

Here's a little known fact: most veterinary offices don't do anything for injured wild birds that aren't endangered or raptors. When Amanda and I saved the robin in our backyard we tried calling a few vets and the local humane society. They all told us the same thing. The robin, that I started thinking of as Miss Ida, wouldn't stay put. She eventually wandered off. I found her the next morning in the tall grass. Dead.

I watched Mike Bones' bird, stubborn, trying in spite of a broken wing and two broken legs. The weather was warm, and the cruise passengers had mostly dispersed; but there would be more foot traffic for a few more hours. I worried about someone finding the wounded whipperwill and being cruel. I didn't want Mike Bones to find it, either. He's not fragile or anything; but it seemed unfair to put the responsibility on him. Small kindnesses are rare. It should be rewarded.

I scooped him up carefully, petted his head with my thumb. I talked to him. He fought me at first but settled down quickly. I walked over to the river by the incorrect mile post sign. I leaned on the concrete pilon, talked to the bird to keep him calm.

Then I snapped his neck.

It was quick. I felt the life leave his body. Then I offered him back to the river, packed my pipe, and lit it. Later, when I saw Amanda, the first thing I told her was about the bird.