My (earnest, irate) thoughts

One recent morning, as I was pulling into a BP gas station and I saw a horrible sight in the middle of the road. A small brown bird had been hit by a car or landed in a puddle of oil or something, because its wing was bent at an unnatural angle and seemed stuck to the pavement. A dozen identical birds were flapping their wings, chirping and screeching all around, and seemed to be trying to help. But every time a car got near, the other birds had to fly up to the electrical wire or over to the grass to avoid getting hit, and the injured bird stayed trapped, struggling wildly.

I felt sick, watching it. I thought about helping, but I had no idea what to do. Cars came by every few seconds or so, into the gas station or out of it. The hurt bird was in the middle, so the cars passed by about a foot away on either side. Back and forth went the birds, committed to rescuing their friend. Back and forth. A wave of flapping wings knowing just when to depart, when to return. All the while chirping and screeching (advice and directives?) in their language. I went into the store to get coffee. When I came back out, all trace of the birds was gone. There was no blood or guts on the ground, no chirping birds on the wire or in the nearby sky. Not even one feather remained. They had done it, they had rescued him. I have no idea how.