Last sip

Yesterday I saw a chickadee sitting on the edge of my stone birdbath, still.

I was about to let the dog out but changed my mind because I didn’t want to disturb her.

I sneaked out myself, to take a closer look. She remained motionless. I thought maybe she was sleeping, or maybe she’d had a close run-in with a hawk and was using this spot to recover. There was no sign of trauma, but her eyes seemed closed. I know rabbits often stay motionless after a harrowing encounter, entering a catatonic state, and finally move when their bodies have calmed down. Perhaps this was the case here.

By evening I checked again. She was still there and a squirrel had appeared next to her, drinking from the bath.

Strange, I thought.

Morning came and I looked again. She was gone. I breathed a sign of relief.

Then I reconsidered and ventured outside. I looked all around the perimeter of the birdbath and couldn’t see her…until suddenly I could.

Her lifeless body lay under some fern leaves. Her tail feathers outstretched, her wings slightly open, her head limp.

How long had she sat there, waiting to die? I chose to believe that she had reached the end of her natural life. I recalled earlier in the day I had seen two chickadees arguing about who would take a drink first. One of them did while the other flew into the branches of one of our maple trees and waited. I noted that they each took a turn and didn’t think anymore about it. For one, it was perhaps her last sip.