The Tragedy of the Bird

I'm sure every single person I know is sick of hearing about this damn bird, but seriously this has a hold of my psyche, my whole physical being. If you didn't already know, I pay attention to strange things. As in, dreams that I have and their possible meaning and/or occurrences that happen during the day, like say, the state bird flying and landing in front of my restaurant when I'm walking in to get my check, when I'm contemplating leaving this state. I totally believe that everything happens for a reason and if you ask the "universe" for help, you will receive, but you have to be aware and pay attention. So that's what I think and here is what happened with this damn baby bird
I take Frankie on walks at Girard Park every morning before I go to work. The park is full of baby ducks, squirrels, giant geese, tons and tons of weird animals native only to Girard, I'm sure.
I pull in, step out of my car, take one last pull on my coffee and declare to myself and Frankie, today shall be much better than the last.
Just when I start to hit my stride with the fast walk, after Frankie poops and before we get to the giant geese, I see a little something fluttering and falter on the side. I look more closely and I see a baby starling fluttering around on the dirt, with a broken wing and an exposed chest.
Have I mentioned before that I LOVE baby animals?
Immediately, I start thinking about what I should do to help it and how happy the mother bird will be when I magically heal her baby and how all the animals of Girard will flock to me and sing like in Snow White. Then, I remember that baby birds, if handled, will be rejected by their mother. What to do, what to do?
I tie Frankie up on a light pole, she is confused and annoyed and wants to walk, so she wasn't very happy with this whole situation. I scoop up this terrified little broken, baby and whisper that its going to be alright...right before it wriggles out of my hands and I drop it. Great. The little bird tumbles down the hill and then the mother bird flies out of wherever the hell she was hiding at, and starts chattering at me and the baby. "Where the hell were you?" I yell.
Realizing that I officially qualify as a crazy person is the first step in treatment, right?
I scoop up the baby again, this time more firmly.
I grab agitated Frankie and shove her into the car and try driving as nicely as possible, which is hard because I drive a stick shift, poorly at best.
I get us to the vet clinic next to my house and they tell me they dont take wild animals and look at me like I'm a weirdo.
I take the bird to another clinic.
They say that they are going to give me some phone numbers to call and that ill probably have to go to Baton Rouge and its going to be expensive.
I seriously thought that they would just take the bird, no questions asked and I would be a good person for saving a life.
Wrong.
I explain that I don't exactly have that kind of cash or time available and I couldn't just leave the bird in the park to suffer with a broken wing and torn open chest.
The vet tech tells me to wait and takes the bird back for the vet to check it out and see what the best options are. She comes back out and nonchalantly tells me that they are just going to go ahead and put the bird to sleep and then she walked away.
I was left standing their with tears in my eyes and conflicting feelings. Did I really do the right thing for the bird or was I trying to make myself feel better? Will the Mother bird recognize me and form a goose/squirrel/starling uprising the next morning I'm walking Frankie?
This damn baby bird has been consuming my soul. When I try and save something and then they kill it...what in the holy hell does that mean for me and my future?
I have a lot of things on my plate at the moment, contemplating my new future in my old place and what I'm supposed to do when I get their, what the best future for my family is and how to be as happy as I can wherever I am.
Then this happens, which really leaves me wondering...

Cheers.