It was four feet high and weighed thirty pounds, easy. More than heavy enough to crush the life from a five-ounce cockatiel. He dropped to his knees next to the limp form and told himself to stop shaking. He never shook in the OR. He was precise and machinelike. But it wasn’t personal then. It was plumbing, and he was a very skilled plumber. It had never been personal like this. And he’d never wanted to save anything as badly as he did this goddam bird. “I told Penny I didn’t want a house pet—” He got out that much before his voice cracked. He couldn’t feel a heartbeat in the cockatiel’s chest, and he couldn’t get enough control of his hands to compress the tiny area with any precision, but he had to try. Something inside him would crack wide open if he didn’t have this pest of a bird to ferry around on his shoulder. Sprawled on his belly, he dug his thumb into the puffed chest cavity and swore under his breath.
