…I realized this in quite a humourous way last night. It’s amazing how when you hear someone retelling a story you’ve told, just realize just how nutty you sound.
Last night at Ewan’s “The-thesis-study-is-finally-handed-in” surprise sausage barbeque, Carmen’s friend, Marion (whom I have also befriended) was telling a few of the group that she thought I was a bit strange when we first met. A group of us went out for coffee one evening after work, and there was Marion, unfamiliar to me, but a friend of Carmen’s, so someone awesome, simply by association. I knew all the other people that were there, and they knew me, so I didn’t think twice about telling them about the tragic passing of Mom’s much loved canary.
Now, most of my friends will tell you that I love animals, but that I seriously suck at taking care of them. Not because I don’t want to, simply because I’m so scatterbrained, I sometimes simply forget. I am not a good pet-sitter either, pets tend to die on my watch, as was the case with said canary.
Mom and Dad went away for a few days, about a week, the destination is irrelevant. The fact is they weren’t home, the canary was, and it was left in my capable over-30 hands…or so they thought.
I remember sitting at work updating orders when the proverbial bucket of ice-cold water was poured down my back! Shit, I’d forgotten to feed the canary, for about three days running. Oh well, if it’d survived this long (never assume anything!), what was another hour or two, right? When I eventually did get home, after first stopping at the mall for something, and then at a friend for a quick coffee (which lasted about two hours), I trotted off to the back porch to check on the canary and well…it was dead (as most of you probably expected by now). I was quite distraught – not because it was dead, but that Mom wasn’t around to bid it farewell and bury it, so I did what I thought (Marion obviously didn’t) was the next best thing, and I wrapped it in clingwrap, and popped it in the freezer, right next to the frozen chicken pieces. Birds of a feather…
The day before my folks were due home, I broke the news as gently as I could that the canary had chittered it’s swansong and was now in the Big Aviary in the Sky. Mom was understandably upset. What upset her even more was that I’d frozen the carcass. “Now mom, it wasn’t a carcass, it still had all its feathers and everything…” I told her that I wasn’t going to bury the poor little creature until she got home.
The day of the burial arrived – Mom made me dig a tiny little grave at the rose-bush and I placed the little popsicle in the ground, clingwrap and all. Mom thumped me upside the head and told me to use my brain – plastic is not biodegradable! So I picked it up, grabbed the ends of the plastic and shook until the canary popped out with a soft thud into the ground.
Our rose-bush is still growing like a weed…and the flowers are canary yellow too. Coincidence? Nah!
So, as I sit here, rereading this post before I publish, I realize just how loony I must have sounded regaling this true tale to someone who’d just met me. I guess I really am a misfit…but I love myself just the way I am.