Dad was half way through his shift, when he heard a soft thud and he looked over his shoulder; it was a small bird, a sandpiper. It apparently must have been worn out, and landed on our deck for a break. Dad wanted to catch it, but he didn't want the bird to jump over the side. The bird in the end wedged into the fender rack and that was the time to catch him (assuming that it was a he).

Dad woke us up and showed us the bird; he gently grabbed it and put him in a plastic container. We put a towel under him. We warmed up some water and put it in a plastic bag, and wrapped it in a cloth. We put it in and the bird we named Socrates (pronounced Soo-Crates) huddled around it.

We took over the shift and every few minutes looked at the bird. We put bread, nuts, and some fish in, but he wouldn't eat it. When mom woke up we showed her Socrates, but we also noticed that his wing was bent back. Mom told Dad after his nap about Socrates wing, and he took a look. They grabbed the medical supplies. Dad found some gauze and we wrapped it around Socrates and made a sort of sling. While he was out we pet him, and he seemed to like it. He would put his beak on you while we pet him, and he seemed to like us. It was very cute.

The wind picked up, so we went to an anchorage. We had a nice dinner of curry that my dad made. Right before we went to bed, we heated up his water, rewrapped it in the cloth, and moved him to our room. We all fell asleep.

I woke up and went to heat up Socrates' water. I brought his cage to the salon to heat up his water, but when I took the water bag out, I noticed some blood on his gauze. I touched him, but he was cold and didn't move. He had passed... I told everyone, and we came up with the conclusion that he had hit the windmill and had internal bleeding. We held a U.S. Navy burial for him, "Good-bye Socrates, go to the sea, from whence you came".