1.16.2005
__________________________________________________________1.02.2005
This other day a friend showed me her broken cel phone screen asking me what I thought the pattern formed by the liquid gel looked like? Without thinking I immediately said a feather. I think she said it resembled a leaf. You get the picture. If it were after my little body surfing mishap in Africa I probably would've said a surfboard.
I was walking towards the stables from the main house to check up on a horse as I noticed something moving in the trees. After a second look saw a pigeon hanging from a branch flapping helplessly. One of the local boys climbed the tree in a matter of seconds and brought the injured bird down. It was explained to us that trappers place the pigeons inside a trapping device and let them loose to catch falcons. The device had a central mesh that fit under the bird’s wings such that it wont prevent the bird from flying. But once a bird of prey; eagles/falcons, attack them their legs get caught in one of the many extended loops and are trapped forcing them to land wherever they are. We cut the wires and removed the trap, a deep cut was visible on her back. It seemed that she was already attacked and possibly escaped to the safety of the tree only for the wires to get caught in the branches. She was shaken but ok. Holding her you could feel her little heart beating a million times a second. The local vet sprayed some pink liquid on her wound to disinfect it. One of the horse keepers suggested to put the bird in one of the stable rooms for it to recover, the vet instead decided to put her behind a wire fence right next to the house so she could check up on her. As we started walking towards the stables someone attracted our attention back to the house. One of the dogs had sneaked under the fence and had her in his jaws. We ran back and the owner started yelling as the dog released her. It was too late. Her wing was busted and her neck broken. Her head was tilted to the left resting on her wing. She was still alive and breathing, eyes open. I really could see the fear and confusion in her eyes. To us; the ones that came from the city, it was a horrific scene, to the locals it was another day living in the country. We bought our meat, they killed it. One of them said 'bokoshidesh, daare zajr mikeshe' as he was walking away. We asked him to do it but he didn't stop and said he had things to do. The three of us stood there, city folks; cocky, educated and proud, looking at each other like helpless children. One of us filled up half the previous day with his hunt stories so we immediately turned to him. 'No, no, I can only hit them from far' he said and walked away. The two of us remained with our thin hearts in our throat, looking at her. It seemed as the entire misery of the planet has somehow concentrated and zoomed in on this poor bird, and we could feel it. 'I cant do it. no way. It’s you man.' I can’t quite describe my friends tone, a hint of desperation maybe, but I didn’t argue, there was no doubt in his voice. I was so mad at everyone for walking away leaving me by myself. Unlike so many other times I had no other choice. So what? Smash her with a rock? Throw her to the dogs? What would you have done? My friend finally took out his pocketknife and put it on the fence. I opened it and looked at her, beautiful tiny yellow eyes lost in a sea of gray feathers, her sight shifting from left to right, back and forth, her chest rising with rapid breaths. She was lying there, waiting. I realized my breathing was quite heavy by now. 'Walk away, walk away' I kept telling myself, ‘it’s only a bird’. There been few other occasions when I knew the right thing to do but couldn’t bring myself to do it. Like other times I came to these last words: just do it. I took a deep breath and placed the blade on her neck. It’s like picking up a bucket you think is full only to yank it up because it’s empty. If you've never cut over feathers you wont know how much pressure to apply. I thought I'll just place the blade over her neck and it will cut through like butter and be quickly over. Not so. The blade on the feathers was no more effective than a stick, so I applied more pressure getting more upset by the second. It was not working. I was breathing harder with every passing moment as I realized that I was not prepared for what was happening; the look on her face, the red blood trickling on smooth gray feathers in a time span which seemed like for ever. Anger and frustration mixed as I threw the ineffective knife aside and pulled on her soft-feathered head with all the force I could muster. The fibers tore between my grip and her head separated from her body. I dropped them on the ground without looking at her and walked away. 'savaab daasht. damet garm. no way I could do it'. I wanted to yell 'FUCK OFF' but just kept walking. Walked away angry, as angry I've been in a long time. Angry of the arabs that were going to buy the falcon, angry of the trappers, angry of the fucking dog, angry of my chicken friends, angry of myself, angry of god, angry of the damn bird. I tried to rationalize; it’s only a bird, thousands of people die every day, blah blah blah, but it was the weight of the moment that seemed to stretch through an eternity, that’s how it always is!!
A week after I came back from iran I was walking up Cole Valley and saw a pigeon in the street towing a plastic bag. She would try to fly but fail and land a few feet further. I chased her and after a few attempts and with the help of another pedestrian cornered her. I stepped on the plastic bag and finally got a hold of her. All the memory from iran rushed back as I held her soft-feathered body in my grip. 'I killed your cousin only about a month ago!! Can you smell it on my hands? ' Her wing has gone through the handle of the bag and was firmly caught. The bag was removed with a bend of the wing and she was flying. The other person told me how his friend worked in the wildlife society and they see many cases every year where seals are caught in plastic bags and are either cut up badly or end up drowning. What else is new I thought!!! We are a fucking ignorant bunch!!
__________________________________________________________
I was walking towards the stables from the main house to check up on a horse as I noticed something moving in the trees. After a second look saw a pigeon hanging from a branch flapping helplessly. One of the local boys climbed the tree in a matter of seconds and brought the injured bird down. It was explained to us that trappers place the pigeons inside a trapping device and let them loose to catch falcons. The device had a central mesh that fit under the bird’s wings such that it wont prevent the bird from flying. But once a bird of prey; eagles/falcons, attack them their legs get caught in one of the many extended loops and are trapped forcing them to land wherever they are. We cut the wires and removed the trap, a deep cut was visible on her back. It seemed that she was already attacked and possibly escaped to the safety of the tree only for the wires to get caught in the branches. She was shaken but ok. Holding her you could feel her little heart beating a million times a second. The local vet sprayed some pink liquid on her wound to disinfect it. One of the horse keepers suggested to put the bird in one of the stable rooms for it to recover, the vet instead decided to put her behind a wire fence right next to the house so she could check up on her. As we started walking towards the stables someone attracted our attention back to the house. One of the dogs had sneaked under the fence and had her in his jaws. We ran back and the owner started yelling as the dog released her. It was too late. Her wing was busted and her neck broken. Her head was tilted to the left resting on her wing. She was still alive and breathing, eyes open. I really could see the fear and confusion in her eyes. To us; the ones that came from the city, it was a horrific scene, to the locals it was another day living in the country. We bought our meat, they killed it. One of them said 'bokoshidesh, daare zajr mikeshe' as he was walking away. We asked him to do it but he didn't stop and said he had things to do. The three of us stood there, city folks; cocky, educated and proud, looking at each other like helpless children. One of us filled up half the previous day with his hunt stories so we immediately turned to him. 'No, no, I can only hit them from far' he said and walked away. The two of us remained with our thin hearts in our throat, looking at her. It seemed as the entire misery of the planet has somehow concentrated and zoomed in on this poor bird, and we could feel it. 'I cant do it. no way. It’s you man.' I can’t quite describe my friends tone, a hint of desperation maybe, but I didn’t argue, there was no doubt in his voice. I was so mad at everyone for walking away leaving me by myself. Unlike so many other times I had no other choice. So what? Smash her with a rock? Throw her to the dogs? What would you have done? My friend finally took out his pocketknife and put it on the fence. I opened it and looked at her, beautiful tiny yellow eyes lost in a sea of gray feathers, her sight shifting from left to right, back and forth, her chest rising with rapid breaths. She was lying there, waiting. I realized my breathing was quite heavy by now. 'Walk away, walk away' I kept telling myself, ‘it’s only a bird’. There been few other occasions when I knew the right thing to do but couldn’t bring myself to do it. Like other times I came to these last words: just do it. I took a deep breath and placed the blade on her neck. It’s like picking up a bucket you think is full only to yank it up because it’s empty. If you've never cut over feathers you wont know how much pressure to apply. I thought I'll just place the blade over her neck and it will cut through like butter and be quickly over. Not so. The blade on the feathers was no more effective than a stick, so I applied more pressure getting more upset by the second. It was not working. I was breathing harder with every passing moment as I realized that I was not prepared for what was happening; the look on her face, the red blood trickling on smooth gray feathers in a time span which seemed like for ever. Anger and frustration mixed as I threw the ineffective knife aside and pulled on her soft-feathered head with all the force I could muster. The fibers tore between my grip and her head separated from her body. I dropped them on the ground without looking at her and walked away. 'savaab daasht. damet garm. no way I could do it'. I wanted to yell 'FUCK OFF' but just kept walking. Walked away angry, as angry I've been in a long time. Angry of the arabs that were going to buy the falcon, angry of the trappers, angry of the fucking dog, angry of my chicken friends, angry of myself, angry of god, angry of the damn bird. I tried to rationalize; it’s only a bird, thousands of people die every day, blah blah blah, but it was the weight of the moment that seemed to stretch through an eternity, that’s how it always is!!
A week after I came back from iran I was walking up Cole Valley and saw a pigeon in the street towing a plastic bag. She would try to fly but fail and land a few feet further. I chased her and after a few attempts and with the help of another pedestrian cornered her. I stepped on the plastic bag and finally got a hold of her. All the memory from iran rushed back as I held her soft-feathered body in my grip. 'I killed your cousin only about a month ago!! Can you smell it on my hands? ' Her wing has gone through the handle of the bag and was firmly caught. The bag was removed with a bend of the wing and she was flying. The other person told me how his friend worked in the wildlife society and they see many cases every year where seals are caught in plastic bags and are either cut up badly or end up drowning. What else is new I thought!!! We are a fucking ignorant bunch!!
