I saw a crow with a broken wing on the way to work today. He stood on the side of the road and, for some reason, I knew that something was wrong with it. It looked kind of depressed and less lively than it should have been. It turned to hop away and I noticed that it was dragging its wing. It tried to hop up onto a branch on the ground and stumbled because its wing hit the branch. Regaining its balance, it turned around to look at me. It had a fluffy looking head, and I'm quite sure that it's a younger crow. It's funny because I had seen a crow just like this on the weekend. I had driven by and pointed it out to my friend.
The crow watched me, and I knew that it was scared. In earlier days, I would have caught him and taken him to the Wildlife Rescue to get fixed up, but today I didn't. All my past rescues have been put down - including one other crow with a broken wing. They had told me that the wing was beyond repair and the crow would never be able to fly again. I had felt angry that the crow hadn't been given the chance to try and survive without the ability to fly.
As I turned to walk away, I hoped that the little crow would be alright. Yes, he has a broken wing and, yes, he's kind of clumbsy, but maybe, just maybe, he'd have a better chance at life being a little broken than being made whole again.
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