And so crumbles the unfortunate cookie

My father likes to feed the birds in the mornings, before he begins his day's work. He mashes up some dry cookies and sprinkles the crumbs onto the concrete. Every morning a crowd of birds gather around the parking lot, waiting for him.  This, I imagine, must irk the other tenants, and more so any unknowing or unfortunate civilian.

One particular afternoon, and particular it was, upon entering his workplace--his mud, if you will--I spotted a small little bird lingering in the middle of the business floor. Obviously, he was hungry, but more, he took a direct proactive approach in seeking my father's attention. I thought this was cute, and a bit heartwarming.

"There's a stupid bird in here." I told him.

The little bird caught my father's eye, and before he could get sentimental, the small thing started fluttering about the room, and through an opening and into another room as my father followed it. He tried waiting for it to settle down, but the bird flew around until it hit the windowpane and dropped to the ground, on its side, kicking his feet.

My father cupped the bird in his hands, whereupon the bird flew out and into the inevitable window.

"Why haven't you opened the door yet?" I exclaimed in hapless frustration.  "The whole wall is just glass!"

"Look at him; he's dazed. If I let him go out now, he's going to run into something high and die."

"What do you know, old man? Once you hit the other side of 40, that's it! It's all over."

I opened the door and he walked out nursing the bird in his hands, probably whispering. He let the bird go, and the bird flew into the other side of the window.

"Didn't I tell you?" he spoke.

"Well, what should we do? I got a football game to watch."

He sat the bird down on a slab of concrete. It was wheezing heavily and did not move. The little bird sat perched on the brick for a little while, and when my father went back to check on him, the bird was gone.