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There is a dead pigeon outside my office. The wall against the patio is all glass; the bird must have flown into it. I hope its death was quick and painless. The sad-looking corpse lies within eye sight to remind me of the ephemeral. It acts like an aviary Psychopomp. I should probably have this Arizonian Norwegian Blue removed before I become too melancholy about it but I am timorous to touch it. I suppose I could gingerly kick the corpse onto a newspaper and lob it over the patio wall, but I am afraid it would land on a passerby three floors below. There is nothing quite so sad as to have one’s pate struck by a dead decaying pigeon.  The scientist in me is curious to let it be to watch how long it decays away but this is morbid.

Poor thing. Before its eyes imploded it had a disconsolate look on its face, as if the pigeon had realized just before death how little it had done in life. While it is a doleful reminder about our brief time it probably isn’t the best thing for depressed and suicidal patients to see while telling me their woes.

I think I will ask the custodian if he would mind to come sweep it up for me. Perhaps by Wednesday when I return it will have been spirited away somehow or burned up in the not PHX sun.

I don’t know why a sad-looking dead bird evokes such sadness. Death happens. Pigeons don’t last long even under the best of circumstances. Perhaps evolution is at hand screening out the ones who can’t deduce glass from air.  In general I hate seeing animals suffer.  Seeing Texans lament their losses in the recent flood didn’t evoke emotions so much as seeing the stray cats and dogs – that made me want to donate my dollars.

I wonder too what awaits me, what encounter might do me in if I fail to see the fateful glass in front of me.  Perhaps all too soon I too will suddenly drop suddenly dead and someone must haul me away to the rubbish bin along with the other dead birds.  Dear me; contemplating on a dead pigeon is rather depressing.  I think I better go watch some Bugs Bunny cartoons in order to cheer up. Watching Daffy Duck getting continually shot by Elmer Fudd is a near-guarantee to do so.

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