A few minutes ago we got home from church and noticed a little shape in the grass.  Adam cried out, "Look!  Jasmine killed a bird!"
  "No, Jasmine was in the house when we left."
  Quickly we filed out of the car and circled around the pigeon.  In fact, the cat had never touched him, and he was still alive.  But he lay there helplessly, trying to move but unable to.  At first it seemed his neck was broken, but he could support his head at least a little, and instead there was fluid coving from his nose and his round orange eyes not blinking.  Mom knelt down and stroked his gray body, etching the greenish-blue feathers at the base of his wings.
 "Call animal rescue!" Eric begged, but we knew it was too late.  The poor bird, frightened and in pain, managed to spread his wings and try to scoot himself across the grass, but the effort didn't last long.  With one last act of kindness for the beautiful dying creature, Mom lay him in the shade to at least hide him from the cruelty of the sun.
  "Will the birdie go to heaven?" Sophie whispered.
  It was a sad moment.  I'm just glad that we were all given life and that even the smallest ones in my family can recognize the wonder of it all.