On Death...

In Vancouver I watched children watch a dead pigeon. Child's-first-fatality.

It was lying there, on Grandville Island's pier. Beak to pavement, and you could almost see the little x's over it's eyes. While the other pigeons spread bird flu by swooping over head, this one was still.

Children started to gather, dropping the bread crumbs they were holding out in their palms. They stood over the pigeon, observing, but keeping a safe distance. One of the cleaning staff noticed the circle and intersected. She kicked at the pigeon to make sure it was dead. The kids gasped and closed their eyes.

Satisfied the bird was dead, the woman took a broom and dust pan from her trolley. Trying not to actually touch the bird she swept it up, and looked around for the nearest garbage.

She found one of those garbages with the spring loaded opening. As the woman shoved the dust pan against the door the bird started to slip into the garbage can. She quickly retracted her hand. The door snapped shut on it's legs. And that's how it was left--dead little legs sticking out of the trash can.

The children had stood watching the whole funeral and continued to watch until the were swept away by their parents. Given more bread crumbs.