Once upon a time, my daughter asked Santa for a bright blue parakeet. Santa delivered the bright blue parakeet on Christmas morning, and my girls promptly named him Nemo. Maybe not the most intuitive name choice, but it worked.
Nemo lived a happy albeit short life in his cage. We discovered him one day, face down in his food.
Not good.
We quickly wrapped him in tissue paper. Ewww. And took him outside for a short graveside service and burial. Nemo had gone to the other side, into the light. Everyone made peace with his death.
Everyone, that is, except our black lab, Rosie. Apparently, Rosie was grieving uncontrollably, and we were oblivious. I was only able to fully grasp that sorrow when I caught her holding, in her mouth….Nemo. Ewwww.
Yep. You got it. My dog sniffed out Nemo’s grave, dug him up, snuck him into the house, and was attempting to hide him when I busted her. After an exhausting game of chase, I regained possession of Nemo.
This time I took the bird to the garden. I wrapped him tightly in plastic, said another little prayer, and buried him in the tulips. The end…or so I thought.
Several days later while planting my tomato starts, I saw my dog rolling around on something blue. I was marveling at the joy and abandon with which she lives life when suddenly I realized….NO!!!!! NOT THE PARAKEET AGAIN!!!!
Ick.
Yep, she found the dead parakeet. Yep, she dug it up…along with my tulips. And yep, she was rolling all over it, ensuring that the smell of a month-old dead bird would be with us for quite some time.
My husband helped me dispose of Nemo this time by taking him deep into the woods and burying him once again. Rest in peace, Nemo. Finally.
It appeared that all was as it should be, which is EXACTLY when you should suspect it’s not. I was spending a cold Sunday afternoon on my bed, vegging out while watching Lifetime movies (my favorite Sunday activity). Rosie had been in and out of the room, alternating between snuggling with me and barking at squirrels through the front window.
Suddenly, she was back, laying quietly at my feet. As I reached down to pet her, I saw it….a bright blue bird, resting under her chin. Oh. My. Goodness.
I grabbed the bird and hurled it out the window into the snow. Needless to say, everything within ten feet of my bed had to be sterilized, including the dog. I made a mental note to get the bird from the snow later and drive it somewhere far, far away.
However, as you would suspect, I forgot about the bird until one bright sunny day, as we were relaxing in the backyard. Yes, you guessed it. Rosie found it before me. She was ecstatic to lay the bird at my feet. I responded by hurling the bird in the fire pit. And that, my friends, truly was the end. Nemo was cremated that beautiful Spring afternoon.
And the moral of this story is….don’t ever let people tell you zombies aren’t real. Ok, I probably watch too much Walking Dead, and my dog is a bit warped. But still. You’ll think twice before buying a bright blue parakeet, won’t you?
Hugs and Blessings Always,
LITTLE JEN IN THE BIG WOODS
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Love, loved, loved the Night of the Living Dead. I read it while at work and the patrons gave me a strange look as I sat there snorting and giggling.
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