Christopher had a wonderful gift,
compassion. Whenever he saw something or someone hurt, heíd be the first
one there to comfort them. One day, as he was out playing with his trucks
in the sandbox, he heard a noise coming from the pine tree in his back
garden. He stood up to see what it was. Two birds were fighting with each
other. One was much bigger than the other. Christopher watched as the
bigger bird flew away with a grasshopper in its beak, after stealing it
from the smaller bird. Just then a bluebird fell from the branch. "Oh no!"
Christopher gasped. He ran over to the bird. "Itís got a broken wing," he
frowned. He picked it up ever so gently and carried it into the house.
"What have you got there?" his
father asked, walking over to see. "A bluebird? Why are you bringing it
into the house?"
"A starling attacked it and stole
its food. It must have snapped its wing. Iím going to fix it. If I can
help, I will!" Christopher announced. Heíd fixed other birdís wings before
and knew what to do.
"Thatís very kind of you,
Christopher. Be careful though. Donít get too attached. You know once itís
healed that the bird will need to free again," his father said.
"I know, Dad. I just want it to get
better," he replied. He took the bird into his bedroom and fixed its wing
with wire and bandages. Every day he went out to find worms, ladybugs,
flies, moths and other insects. It took a long time but finally the
bluebirdís wing healed. "Time to let you go now," Christopher said. He
took the bandages off the bird and carried it outside. He opened his palm
and the bluebird flew into the tree. "Take care of yourself," he shouted
and waved goodbye.
Another time he was walking to
school and heard some tiny meows coming from a bush. He bent down. There
were two kittens, tiny things, curled up in a ball, shivering from the
cold and dampness and by the looks of them, half starved. Instead of
continuing to school, he put the kittens in his pockets and headed home.
"What are you doing home? Why arenít
you at school?" his mum asked.
He pulled the kittens out of his
pockets. "They were going to die, Mum. I couldnít let that happen. Just
let me warm them up and feed them and then Iíll go to school," Christopher
His mum knew there was no use
fighting with him. She knew his love for animals. "When theyíre old
enough, weíll have to find homes for them."
"I know, Mum." He took the kittens
into his room and dried them with a towel. He sat by the heater so they
would be warm. He left them for a few minutes and went into the kitchen.
He poured some milk into a bowl and added some torn up slices of bread. He
carefully carried it back into the bedroom and put it down in front of the
kittens. They began to meow and lap up the milk. "You two stay here and
keep warm, drink your milk, and Iíll be back later," Christopher said. He
shut the door and headed for school.
When he got home, the kittens were
sleeping soundly. He was worried that they werenít alive but when he came
closer, he saw they were breathing. The milk was gone from the bowl, so he
refilled it and put it down. The kittens woke up and seemed to be feeling
much better. "I think Iíll call you Wynken and Blynken," he laughed,
petting them both. In a few days the kittens were running about, chasing
bits of yarn and trying to climb up his bed sheets. After a few weeks,
Christopher put a sign up advertising free kittens. An elderly lady came
by and took both of them home. Christopher was sad to have them leave, but
knew she would take good care of them.
Christopherís mum stood at the
living room window. She saw him carrying a box. "Whatís he got this time?"