Burying the Bird

Once upon a time, out West somewhere, were two of the bestest friends you'd ever want to find. These two little boys had met in first grade and had been like two peas in a pod ever since. They looked almost a like. Same height, same weight, same build - the only difference was that one had curly blonde hair and the other one had straight blonde hair.

They were both altar boys and really loved to dress up in the black and white outfits that they got to wear when they served at Mass. It was so much fun being part of all that pomp and circumstance. They had started when they were in the second grade and knew the Latin responses as good as anybody.

Both of them wanted to be priests in the worst way. It would be so much fun to be able to wear all those neat vestments and swing the censer around. They wanted it so bad that they started doing pretend masses at home. They took turns being the priest and they had some great times. Mom's antique wine glasses were perfect for the grape juice. And a little white bread squished flat made a perfect host.

One afternoon, as they were coming home from school, they happened to find a freshly killed sparrow. Looked like a cat had nailed it then got scared away. Perfect! Time for a no-holds barred funeral! This would be marvelous! Singing, candles, solemnity - the ideal thing for getting out of homework.

They couldn't wait to get home to start the preparations. They found an old shoe box with tissue paper and laid the bird out. They decided to make it an open casket ceremony since the bird looked so natural - better than life!

Mom's brass candle sticks would have to do since they couldn't find any good black ones like they used at church. They found a little flower pot that they could use for burning the incense. Oops, no incense - that's OK, newspaper with a little perfume sprayed on it would have to do. So they had the best funeral you've ever seen. Humming the funeral songs when they didn't know the words, smoke billowing up from the flower pot, grape juice flowing. The ride to the cemetary (back yard garden) in the wagon was awesome. Sprinkling the dirt over the box - oh what a sight!

Then quickly dig the box up, run back in the house, do it all again! They did have to each have a turn at being the priest after all!

Finally, the bird was at rest. The altar was cleaned up, as only fifth graders can do, the vestments were put away (Mom's scarves), the incense pot was dumped. You would've never known there had been such a solemn ceremony at that very spot. And they never did figure out how the Mom knew something went on that afternoon. Couldn't have been the leftover smoke or anything like that!

So if you're a bird and you're going to die make sure you crawl out of sight somewhere or you too could be given a proper burial. Only this time I'll do it right!

-- Michael Rusk