"I would, but a car covered in blood and hunks of hair is terrible for business."
I was done. It was time to wash the car and head home. At 5.14 am, it was only me, the sunrise, and the early birds (a bunch of jackdaws, to be exact) out to get their proverbial worm. Most of them were looking for said worm on the lawns lining the side of the road, and one or two on the road itself.
In my line of work, roadkill is inevitable, and since Sweden is the land of roe deer, moose, and an ever-growing army of wild boar, the term roadkill has the potential to cut both ways. Thus, of all the animals that I encounter on the road, birds are my favourite, because they're the best at getting out of the way. And even if they don't, the most damage they can do is turn into a puff of feathers. But like I said, ninety nine percent of the time, they get out of the way.
So there I was, happily driving down the road, when I realized that one of the jackdaws hadn't gotten off the ground in time. A millisecond later, I heard a thud against the front of my car. A wing rose and flapped against the hood. I hit the breaks and put the car in reverse, convinced I'd see a crippled jackdaw on the ground. And to put it out of its misery, I was going to have to run it over, and then go home feeling like a monster. A great way to end the evening.
To my surprise, and horror, there was no jackdaw on the ground. I got out of the car and walked around to the front and saw this:
This little dude (let's call him Gary) was lodged in the front of my car. He was struggling to get out, but once I came around he got very still. I could see broken feathers, and what the rest of his body looked like, I didn't even want to consider.
After googling what one should do if one hits an animal I called the emergency number.
"What's your emergency?"
"I've... hit an animal."
"All right... Are you hurt?"
"No, I'm fine, it's... uhm.."
"What kind of animal is it?"
"I'll be honest," I said. "I don't know if this is even apropriate to call in, but... it's a jackdaw."
"A jackdaw?"
"Yes. And it's stuck in the hood of my car. Like, literally, stuck in the grill. Most of its body is literally stick inside an air-intake on my car. So... yeah... I have no idea of what to do."
The operator paused for a long while. And then she said: "I... Hold please while I talk to my colleague."
And so I was put on hold, while Gary kept staring at me. He looked like he was calmly and patiently awaiting me to help him out, an illusion that was shattered the moment I left his field of view. The moment I did, he started thrashing and trying to get out. Once I returned, he got still. He wasn't asking for help, he was terrified of me. And who could blame him?
The operator got back to me: "I'm gonna put you through to the police."
So I was put on hold. For a long, long time. A couple of passers by stopped, were duly horrified and walked on. Finally the police picked up. I explained the situation.
"Do you have any way to put it out of its misery?"
"... I don't think you understand, it's literally stuck inside the front of my car. If I put it out of its misery, I'm going to have to dig it out with my bare hands."
"I'm sorry, sir, but jackdaws are not covered by the <law about animals that get run over>."
"All right.. so there's no animal control or something... people who know what to..."
"I'm afraid not, sir."
"So what you're saying is that I should... murder the hell out of this bird and dig it out of my car."
"Pretty much."
"All right. Great. Have a wonderful morning."
I hung up. I looked at Gary.
"I am so very sorry, little guy..." I got into the car and took out a pair of work gloves. Gary was positioned in such a way that I could grab his head. I'd twist his neck, and then just.. pull him out. That was the plan.
Of course, Gary was having none of it. He kept biting at my fingers and flapping his wing at me. Not that he had to. I was horrified, and every time I reached for him, I recoiled just as quickly. I simply couldn't do it. I could feel the ghosts of my cro-magnon and neanderthal ancestors judging the shit out of me.
 |
| "So we heard a bird was giving you trouble, huh?"on |
Without really thinking, I started feeling around Gary's shoulders. Maybe I could get a better grip. Maybe I could figure out which way his head was turned so I could twist his neck in the optimum direction. Maybe I could get him out and then run over his doubtlessly crippled body. Maybe I was just trying to procrastinate as much as possible before having to do the inevitable.
I realized something. Gary was holding on, as much as he was stuck. He didn't want to be there, but he wasn't very keen on me pulling him out either. I managed to push away one foot that was gripping a crack, and managed to tuck away one of his wings. And then it happened. Suddenly he came lose. For a brief second he was in my hands, and then he started flapping his wings furiously. I let him go, and he took off!
Sure, he was missing a few feathers, and sure he was wobbly, and sure, his right wing and tailfeathers were covered in his own shit (who can blame him, though), but he was fucking flying!
I watched him disappear beyond the houses, cawing indignantly all the way.
As I'm writing this, I can hear the birds outside my window. The crows and the jackdaws. There's a corny part of me thinking that perhaps they're saying that humans aren't all that bad. After all, one of them helped Gary out today.
A far more realistic part of me knows, however, that what they're saying is this:
"We know where you live, motherfucker. And we know how far it is between your front door and your car. Sleep tight."
