My stepmother was always said to be an avid animal lover. She even spent a time working at the humane society, picking up strays mostly. We always had at least one dog while I was growing up. (As a side story – when I wanted a guinea pig, my dad made me go to the library, research them and write him an essay on the proper care of guinea pigs, after which he threw out the essay without reading it and bought me one).
This time however, it was Antichrist who was after pets. No essays for her, just a quick trip to the pet store to pick out two ultimately doomed budgies (to be named Fred and Ginger) and a fancy cage full of toys. A spent one week, ONE WEEK trying to train the birds to speak. After that, she decided they were stupid, and completely ignored them. dad and I took it upon ourselves to take turns feeding and watering the budgies and cleaning the cage.
Months passed by. The birds were becoming just a fixture of the dining room. Like one of the many inanimate paintings that hung around the room. One weekend while I was away at my Mom and Stepdad’s, Antichrist, the genius animal lover took the cage into the backyard in the morning and opened the cage, hoping the birds would fly away and save her from having to gosh, I don’t know, GIVE them away to someone…No, the domestic birds were meant to be set free, only to freeze to death that very night. Fred left. Ginger didn’t. That bird outsmarted A.
When I arrived back after the weekend, I was told the story briefly by dad, and found Ginger and her cage downstairs, now in the living room. dad and I were still in charge of the bird. About a month later, while having some company over, a friend of the family pointed out to me that the bird hadn’t been moving. I glanced over and saw Ginger with her head in the feeder. After two minutes of watching her stock still, I was pretty sure she was dead, but since we had company over, I didn’t want to point this fact out immediately.
After everyone left, A told me to dispose of the body, clean the cage and put it in the garage. Unfortunately by this time, Ginger had quite the grip on her perch and it took me several minutes to pry her free of the feeder. During this time, I noticed A peeking around the corner down the stairs at me. I was about to head out the back door, only feet away from me, when I heard dad speak to A and changed my mind. With her head turned the other way, I was able to race up the stairs and shove the poor dead bird right in her face at the exact moment she turned around. I’ve never heard a scream quite like that one.
I was severely grounded and punished for that little stunt, but it rolled off my back like water. As MasterCard says, some things are priceless. One point for the good guys!
