Two Kinds of People

There are two kinds of people. You can figure out who is who by watching what they do when a hapless bird, intent on catching its next meal or just racing for the sheer joy of it, smashes headfirst into a window pane. Window pain.

There are those who coo, shucks and aw before donning a pair of latex gloves — leftover from their pandemic supply — go outside, pickup the unconscious animal, gently caress it while whispering sweet nothings, and then expertly wring its neck. One act of violence, and then presumably mercy.

There are those who coo, shucks and aw before gathering a few materials to create a shelter to hide the animal from the view of others who’d consider it prey. These people will check their construction repeatedly for inhabitants, delighted when it’s empty and distraught when it’s not. But any delight is short-lived, as doubt settles in like a wet blanket, clammy and dampening especially the faintest hope. They didn’t see that little chickadee, swallow, martin fly their makeshift coop. Did it really recover? Or was it dinner for the neighbour’s already-fat cat? They’ll never know.

I’m not sure which approach is better. I’m not sure who has it easier.

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