Sentret

I was in the garage when Logan ran up to me more excited than I had seen him in a long time, bright-eyed with a huge smile. “Mom, mom! I have to show you something!” What could it be? A super-cool fort he built? Money he found? It was the kind of exuberance reserved for only the most wonderful and hoped-for surprises. He enthusiastically led me by the hand over to his bicycle and knelt down beside it. Lying in the water-bottle cage of his bike was a dead bird. Suppressing my true reaction, I could see that Logan was not merely trying to shock me, nor was his attitude one of macabre interest. Rather, he spotted this opportunity to help the bird, not fully realizing that its injury had been quite fatal. I saw that the loving and compassionate hands of my son had scooped up this bird and nestled it gently and carefully into this improvised ambulance and he had sped home with his patient. It was newly dead because it was still flaccid as it laid breast up, head dangling backwards from its lifeless neck. “Look!” Logan exclaimed. I did look, but from a safe distance. “No…LOOK!” Logan insisted. So, on my knees I went, not for my need to see the bird closer, but as an expression of my interest in the object for which he had so much emotion. I asked him where he found it and he explained. I asked him if he picked it up with his hands and he said he did, though there was concern in his voice that perhaps he shouldn’t have done that. I quickly said that it was okay, since I wanted neither to dampen the moment nor infringe upon his innocence. Logan drew my attention to the peculiar color of the bird’s eyes and encouraged me to get even closer to really look at them, which I did. He gently lifted up the flaccid head. “Maybe it just fainted,” he said hopefully. “No, I don’t think so, honey.” And he gently released the head which returned to its dangling position. Logan suggested two names for the bird which clearly he had thought of before arriving home and asked me which one I preferred. “I think I like Sentret better,” I said in a thoughtful voice. I don’t recall the other name. Solemnly we examined the bird. Logan talked and I nodded. We talked about how pretty he was and how nice his color was. We talked about what kind of bird he might be and both decided that he was no ordinary bird. Logan spoke lovingly about Sentret’s wonderful attributes, as if his new pet bird just happened to be dead, a small fact he was willing to overlook. Finally, Logan asked if I thought we should bury Sentret. I said yes. Logan felt we should mark the grave with a large cross, but in the end we settled on a rock. I got two garden trowels and we dug a shallow grave, laid Sentret to rest, and covered him up. We prayed over Sentret, but though my lips were pronouncing words of peace for Sentret, my heart was thanking God for my kind and compassionate son who would stop to adopt a lifeless bird in hopes that it could finally have a good home.