Russell.

So yesterday I got home and walked in the door to see Louis taking photos on the webcam of him and what appeared to be a bundle of blankets. "Hey Char" he said brightly, "meet Russell." He turned around and thrust the blanket towards my face, and I realised that there was a magpie sandwiched in there somehow. "Oh my god Louie. Put the bird outside. Bird. Outside. Outside with the bird. Bird. Out" was all I could manage, haunted by vivid flashbacks of that time on holiday when I was seven, and thought it would be cool to show Dad that there was a bird sitting on my shoulder. He was inside the supermarket. Needless to say, the bird did not approve of the supermarket environment and I watched in horror as the park ranger smushed it up against the glass with a hessian sack, completing an afternoon of bird screeching, father yelling, tear streaming fun. Anyway, Russell went outside and Louie obviously decoded my expression to mean "What the fuck is even going on and why is the birds name Russel?" and immediately launched into a wildlife warrior style story of how he rescued Russell from the storm outside because he couldn't fly and he was looking sad standing in the rain. We left him to sort out his demons about the rain for a good half hour, and then Louie thought it might encourage him to embrace life a little if only he had a bit of bread to nibble on. Fast forward about an hour and I look out the window to see Russ standing in the backyard with a forlorn expression amid what can only be described as a mountain of bread. Millions and millions of tiny little pieces of wonder white, covering every inch of visible ground in a 30cm radius of the bird. I think Louie thought that if he made it so the only thing Russ could see was bread, he might take the initiative to try some. No such luck. That's when I realised that something was definitely wrong with the bird. "Bobs," I suggested tentatively (I have called him that since he was a baby-there wasn't someone else there) "Maybe we should put Russell in a box, make him comfortable." Out of the corner of my eye I saw the bloody bird fall over sideways and start twitching, never a good sign. We got a cardboard box, lined it with newspaper and put Russell in it. I think he took that as the sign to give up on life. He started having this violent seizure and there were feathers going in all directions, I didn't know what to do so I just said stupidly; "Hmmm, Louie I don't think Russ is feeling to great right now." Haha shit. He proceeded to die there and then, the whole rigor mortis and everything, until he lay awkwardly in the bottom of the box. "Should I dig a grave?" he asked. the rest of the afternoon was spent constructing a shrine to Russell and holding a funeral in the back corner of the garden. I can't help but hope to God that Louie's little bird had a brain injury/life threatening issue before he adopted him. I guess we'll never know. Rest in Peace Russ.