109.

when i was six, my biological father took me quail hunting. with a slingshot snuggled into my back pocket and a BB gun as a walking stick, D and i played the part of a good hunting dog by tracking the birds that fell from the sky. we’d track them down and he’d do whatever it is grown men do with things they shoot and kill.

that morning D lined his sights, steadied and fired, sparing the breast for the wing. when we found her she was lying in a lump of herself, not quite gone. “take her by the head and give it a quick spin. you’ll hear the snap,” he instructed before he set off to set his sights on the speckled sky. 

my eyes followed his camouflage as it faded into the pines and then softly settled on the flightless dying thing and i realized that my small hand was not equipped for such a task. i cocked my gun and shot. i cocked it again. then again. praying that my method would work, because the steel somehow stood between me and responsibility. it seems that the courage of a child and a quail’s neck are equally fragile.

as we careened the dirt road on our trip home i pet the flightless bird laying in my lap, and felt a sadness and a guilt i was too young to know.

this memory is strong with me tonight as i have just returned home from petting another living creature as his last breath slipped away. sully was my cat for some time now, has weathered many a storm, moved to house after house, city after city. he was the best cat, but had a bad heart.

there hasn’t been a weightier decision that i’ve been faced with in a long while than the one of taking a life of someone i love. after decisions were made i stood with my hand on his side feeling it struggle to rise and fall and i thanked him for his companionship and for his offers of strength and stability. in a sterilized animal emergency room i cried for the loss of a living soul and a friend. 

i can’t name that recognition and the special sadness that comes with realizing how quickly breath and life can leave the living; can leave those we care about.

only seconds exist between the flying and the flightless. i am feeling it tonight and it's a heavy weight, much more than the quail on my lap in my childhood memories.

i hope he has a toilet to drink out of for the rest of forever.

sweet dreams, sweet sullyman.