Dovey

When I was 8 I rescued a Dove by wrestling it from the mouth of a cat. It had lost all the feathers from its back and wasn't moving much. But she was so sweet and cute I couldn't leave her there, so I took her home and named her Dovey.

I loved Dovey. I kept her in my room feeding her sugar water with an eyedropper and had her all comfy in a box with a fluffy towel and a heat lamp.

A couple days later Dovey was much perkier and even though she had no feathers on her back, I was pretty sure she could still fly. She continued to let me feed her by hand even though a few days ago she was a wild animal. She was so cute and gentle I wanted to keep her as a pet. I thought I'd tame her properly so she'd sit on my shoulder and snuggle into my neck. But the longing in Doveys little black eyes told me she wanted to be free and fly skies again. That as much as she trusted me, my 8 year old self knew she wouldn't be happy as a pet.

So, with a heavy heart I took Dovey into the back yard to release her. I picked her up and held her close. She looked up at me with a grateful expression that said that, even though her brain was the size of a tic tac, she'd never forget me. I said good bye and held her out with tear filled eyes, proud in the knowledge I was doing the right thing. Dovey looked back at me one last time before she flapped her wings and took off into the sky.

It was the most fulfilling 5 seconds of my young life to watch her fly to freedom. Then she was snatched out the sky and killed. Same cat.