Dream with Our Eyes Open

I intervened, likely to no good effect.

I simply could not walk past the spectacle of a full-grown blue jay beating the stuffing out of a fledgling sparrow in the bank parking lot on the way up from the Metro.

The sparrow's near relatives were screaming and buzzing, and as I got near, a bunch of them took off after something that fled across the street: probably the blue jay's mate. The fledgling was still flapping its stubby wings and trying to evade the blue jay's beak. I chased off the predator and picked up the birdling: still alive, and not visibly too torn up although there was a little blood on it. I carried it to some shrubs, with my hands cupped around it, and tried to get it to perch, but the little claws weren't gripping, so it was probably pretty messed up.

I tucked it near the roots of the shrub, and it probably died later of its injuries, or a cat got it, or the blue jay finally figured out my sleight of hand and came after it again: the jay was fruitlessly searching where its prey had last been seen when I left.

And of course this could well mean that the blue jay's own fledglings went hungry this evening. Mother Nature is an unforgiving bitch sometimes.