Easter Sunday 2012

Easter Sunday 2012



The air was warm on Easter Sunday; I decided God was at the beach, so we bagged church. Spotted white clouds looked like scattered pillows splayed across a bedspread blue sky. The wind was sleepy and remained hidden, in its afternoon nap. On this rare occasion, the ocean was quiet, skirting only slightly rolling hips. With eager anticipation, Huckleberry kept affirming our destination, as he lifted his nose high into the jet-stream, slipping by his open passenger-side window. And through experience, I’ve learned the beach and fun are synonymous terms in Labrador Retriever language. If there’s water, that’s the place to be! So with darting eyes full of eager, and a tail moving so hard it could churn butter, we pulled into Cordova Bay Park and took an ocean side stall. I must explain, whenever I open my driver’s-side-door, Huckleberry is like a three-year-old child when it comes to control. You get one long look of wait, then he’s pushing bodies to go!

One thing for sure, Victoria loves feel-good-weather, the people who live there know how to celebrate sunshine filled days. Dozens of people cruised the sand-bordered tide, enjoying the ocean-filled sights, sounds and faces, all whom a White Labrador, loves to greet. With all these pleasantries, we meandered along path of wet sand, sea glass, and warm penetrating sunshine. Somewhere around the half-way-point on our stroll, I noticed an object on the edge of the water, which seemed out of place. Approaching cautiously, I didn’t worry about Huckleberry, because he was socializing with some distant cousins, frolicking in the surf of enthusiasm. Walking up to the water's edge, I found a huge seagull floating with an obvious port-list. Amazingly, the bird didn’t startle as I towered over it. It seemed as though its eyes cried out for help with unspoken words, “my life is passing.” Frankly, uncertainty left me pondering what to do. With Huckleberry now joining me in a thoughtful pause, it was clear the bird was either hurt or sick, because it took no flight.

Finally, after several soft words of conversation between us, I reached down and picked the seagull up with both hands. Understandably, I received a half-hearted peck from this weary stranger. I spoke, "don’t worry my friend; I know you’re afraid, you’ll not be hurt." With the bird in hand, walkers on the beach approached me wanting to know what was wrong with this feathered friend. All I could say was, "I don’t know, but I think it needs my help." After more conversation than the bird or I had time for, with gull in hand, we headed back for the truck. This is where the unspoken rules of sibling rivalry settled in. Huckleberry always rides in the front seat, passenger-side of the truck. I reasoned the last thing I wanted was a screaming seagull trying to make a jailbreak from the back seat. So, with no small amount of teenage angst, I coaxed my four-footed best friend into a seating chart adjustment. This was all accompanied with no small amount of ill willed looks and sighs, as Huckleberry took his place on the bench-seat in the rear of the truck. The bird was extremely weak, as its head rested on my arm, in the coveted front seat.

Thoughts raced across my mind about where I might find a veterinarian open on Easter Sunday? With a little effort, and a lot of heavenly favour, we found an emergency clinic for animals that was open. When I took the seagull in the front door, the Easter greeting came in the form of, “we don’t treat wild animals here!” I thought, oh my, I wonder what I should do? Finally, while questions probed my heart during a long pregnant pause, the vet apparently goal-oriented, suggested he would euthanize the bird for a price. Unsure how to deal with the sanctity of this still life, resting comfortably in my arms, I whispered inwardly, God this is your creature, what would you have me do? With all eyes on the seagull, I replied, "NO!" Then in one of those mysterious moments of life, the gull raised its head and looked at me with focused eyes. Before anything more was said, it rested its head back down and fell asleep, away from this world. The moment was surreal. I was both overwhelmed and joyous, such an unpredictable concoction of feelings and tears.

It was noble of modern medicine to offer to freely dispose of the gull’s remains. I knew inwardly, it would be unfit for a final place of rest. So, I thanked the good doctor for his kindness, and returned to the truck, where Huckleberry eagerly observed the limp remains of our breathless friend. We drove back to the beach and returned the seagull to the place I found it, on the edge of the ocean’s tide. I tenderly placed the bird down between ocean and dry sand, and while doing this act of kindness, an old man with a fisherman’s cap, hurried in his pace to stand at my side. Intent in his focus, he gazed directly at the bird, whose breath had slipped way. Reverently he whispered, “Such a magnificent seagull, may I hold it, just once?”

The seagull doth fly

carried along in wind of western sky

Eternity now echoes,

with a voice of its cry

Soaring,

over fields, barns and green trees, to hills beyond

it soars in evening’s silhouette

Against a backdrop

infused in red and amber,

sunset

Sunday April 8th, 2012

Farewell, my friend!

One day I will hold you again,

when your eyes speak life to me



Dedicated to Joanne, thank you.