The bird was in a bad shape, covered in blood, barely breathing and blinking irregularly.
“She’s going to be fine, isn’t she, mister (she keeps forgetting my name)”, she asked.
Despite her young age, she probably suspected the excruciating pain the animal endured and that releasing it from suffering would be the only act of true mercy.
“I gave her a nice name mister: Louisette.”
I’m glad you didn’t witness it, dear Platero, even though you’re sniffing the fluttered and sticky feathers.