Threw your Lego in the lake, why'd you wanna go do that for.

Where do birds go when they die?

Well, apparently....my back garden.
This morning whilst waiting for the familiar confirmation 'click' from my kettle, signalling the first coffee of the day, I glanced outside and noticed a dead bird on the path outside.
Not being a budding Bill Oddie, the only conclusion I could draw from the dead bird was that it was indeed dead. And large.
Stood in the kitchen, coffee and cigarette in hand, I paused at this new dilemma facing me. What am I going to do with it? The way I see it, I had three choices. I could wrap it up in a bag and dispose of it in my bin. I could throw it over the fence at the end of my garden and let nature take it's cause. I could bury it.
The bin option is too heartless for me to undertake, so that one's out. Letting nature take it's cause is probably the 'nicest' option but I didn't feel comfortable shuffling the lifeless thing on my shovel and then launching it over the fence. Besides, I was a little worried what the neighbours might say if they say me doing such a thing. I settled on the last option....burial. It felt like the right thing to do.
It's pissing down with rain, so the last thing you expect to see is somebody in their back garden digging a hole. The wind was howling, the rain falling down in sheets and that almost sinister sound of a shovel digging into the earth, ringing in the air. I felt bad....naughty....almost sinister. If either of the neighbours saw me, I wonder what they thought.
I'm almost half expecting a knock on the door, being greeted by police who want to excavate my garden, looking for 'remains'.
I really do read too much true crime stuff.