death of a mourning dove

Loading our stuff out from the antique show at Christainson's Nursery this past weekend, a little grey mourning dove flew into a window in my van and fell to the ground stunned, one wing somewhat askew.  Lay there half on its side, eyes blinking beak opening and closing; wouldn't take much imagination to think the bird was trying to speak.  It made no sound.

A twelve foot high ornamental bird cage, rusted iron and chicken wire dominates the center of a raised bed garden area at the nursery next to the lawn and old school house where we had the show. Birds enter and leave the cage freely.  Family of little grey doves roost in boxes in the cage, flutter around the gardens and green houses all day long.    Their calls, coo coo,  may be close to a romantic sounding at first, am I the only one who finds it annoying if they hang around too long.  Now one if them has crashed into our van, laying helpless in the dirt, should I try to help?    

Lady loading her car next to mine, seeing the incident told me to take the bird the nursery office, get it to a vet.  

Always hear about someone nursing a bird back to health, splint on a broken wing.  Can't turn away and leave the poor thing disabled in the road, especially with that lady keeping an eye on me.  So I carefully pick it up and started toward the garden store office.  The bird offered no resistance to being held.  Amazingly light.   

Within half a minute the bird died in my hands.  Eye opened and closed several times, little beak tried to speak again then gone.  I decided not to walk into the garden store with a dead bird and a semi-coherent story about her mouthing profound dying words with her beak.  No one seemed to be around, so I laid the poor creature in a nearby raised bead, and went about finishing my work.  Drove home.  

MJ had already finished her part of the work and gone on ahead, stop at the store for dinner.  Knowing what she will say I considered not telling her, but can't keep something like that to myself, spilled the whole story as soon as I got in.  Even considered it possible she may be empathetic with my feeling bad about the dead bird.

Also came as no surprise to hear her declare you killed that bird before I even got to the part of the story where the poor thing actually did die.  Everyone knows you are not supposed to touch a fallen bird.  And did you wash your hands?

Naturally I googled picking up an injured bird, it is not forbidden.  Carefully handling the bird is reasonable,  probably had a concussion and should be placed in a box with soft lining, in a dark place where the blood will often drain from around the bird's brain and she can fly free once again. Mine didn't make it that far.

Still feels really strange to have had that beautiful little creature die in my hand.  Year ago during this same show my son Max was in the hospital at death's door, now the dead bird; hope that place isn't jinxed for me in some way.