Dawn, that was Good!

Small town anywhere, dead quiet at the crack of dawn, no cock-a-doodle-do, no heavy traffic, just the subtle sound of a small opalescent-colored pigeon egg falling from the brittle branches of an extremely thirsty neighborhood birch tree. Thud — it hits the soft dry grass below and gently rolls onto the somewhat cool concrete sidewalk — stopping only a few inches shy of the roadway. No damage whatsoever, one of those sporadic miraculous moments in time. But the day is only beginning, and it is forecasted to be another scorcher. Very soon, the merciless sun will be pelting down upon every living creature it resides over. Finding shade, keeping cool, and drinking plenty of water are the only ways anything will survive the hellish heat about to come.

Dwellers of this town are well aware of the dangerous summer months, but this season has been exceptionally hot. Weeks have passed, and not a single drop of rain has been gifted from the Heavens above. Incessant thermometer-bursting temperatures are rapidly drying up the town’s reservoirs. Deadly solar rays relentlessly torture the once lush green suburban lawns, leaving behind landscape graveyards of lifeless brown straw. Even the colorful middle-class birdbaths are all parched, wide-open basins begging for a bit of moisture to preserve their paint from cracking under the blistering sun — the ruthless heat is literally killing everything in its pathway.

Then another miracle happens. Spotted through the distorted heat waves shimmering between the hot morning sun and the temporarily cool tar-covered road, a glass filled with a clear liquid appeared. Is it water? And if so, why is it just sitting there on top of a vacant patio table? Could it be a mirage, a thirst-driven hallucination? Or is it true blue water that was simply abandoned by some random neighbor in the night?

The only way to really know is to simply go over there and taste it. Dehydration hasn’t kicked in yet, since it’s still early. However, it’s better to be like a camel and store a bit of H2O than to look like that desiccated, lifeless lawn later on.

Step one — cross the seemingly quiet street and casually head towards the oasis. Fwoosh — no problem, easy-peasy, lemon squeezy. Step two — advance across the crunchy, dead grass as quietly as possible. Snap, crackle, pop.... okay, a tad noisy but still a success story. Step three — get close enough to confirm that it is, for sure, a tall glass of cool water begging to be slurped. Step four — thoroughly examine the kaleidoscope-colored condensation playfully dripping down the sides of the tempered glassware, and witness the light steam awakening around the brim, as it rebels against the morning heat. And finally, step five — conclude that it is indeed a glass full of water, and by God, guzzle the whole thing up!

Wham, bang, kapow — out of nowhere, interception by a linebacker-type bully angrily stomping in the dry dusty landscape, seemingly egging on a fight. A scuffle ensues, and it’s a quick dodge to the left, but the bully, equally fast, dodges left. Then, a right side dodge only to be facing the bully, on that side, all puffed up and belting out a sequence of threatening grunts and snorts, determined to keep that cool glass of water far from the reach of any thirsty candidate.

What is the story here? A bully comes out of nowhere, lashes out as if its own life is on the line, and hasn’t even touched the water because the glass is still full, so what is the problem? Oh, that’s right, bullies are spiteful. Even if they don’t want something, they take pleasure in preventing others from having it. Or is the water being saved for later? Or could it be something else, altogether?

Boom — the chase is on! The bully lunges, forcing the scufflers to cross the now hot tar-covered roadway. Ooh, eeek, yipes — like a couple of jumping beans, both brawlers are forced to bounce up and down off the inferno below in order to avoid burning their appendages. Boing — the scrimmage suddenly comes to a complete stop right then and there, the exact same spot as the fallen egg. Crack, crack, crackle— the egg breaks open and out pops a little baby pigeon. Awe— the bully’s angry heart starts to melt. Fury is immediately replaced with compassion as the innocent fights to overcome all its obstacles, including this deadly heat wave.

For the thirsty, this is the perfect opportunity to quietly sneak away, bolt back across the roadway, empty the abandoned glassware, and slurp down all that delicious life-saving cool aqua. Until, cheap, cheap, cheap — from the helpless baby pigeon completely obliterates any and all personal ambitions. Even the bully has this pitiful, guilt-provoking expression on its once cranky face, “help the poor little bird out, for God’s sake.”

Nothing good in the world intercepts the desperate need for compassion; it’s an innate quality that exists within every single living creature. And it didn’t take much to simply roll the newborn pigeon into a tiny ball, carry it up the tree, gently place it back into the nest, and tuck it sweetly underneath the straw. The only consequence of such a kind-hearted gesture was working up a big thirst, and the bully no longer being occupied by the little baby bird in need of help.

Boom — the chase is back on, only now in reverse. Ooh, eeek, yipes— once again the scufflers are forced to bounce up and down off the even hotter tar-covered roadway, but this time heading towards the oasis. Crunch, crunch, crunch — over the dry brittle grass one more time and then another complete stop right there and then at the tempered glassware full of cool water. Splash — the bully kicks it over, and the water spills out onto the patio table. Indeed, this would be a pity, but not for a pigeon and a squirrel who have no idea how to drink from a glass, or in this case, a plastic cup. Slurp, slurp, slurp...