Kamikaze

Last Thursday afternoon, on a whim, I bought a white parakeet. Originally the bird was to go to either Marsha or Greg, but he was so strikingly beautiful I decided to house him in the antique bird cage that hangs in my entry. K.L. and I both agreed that his white against the dark metal would be stunning.

Unfortunately, during my ER run on Friday this bird somehow managed to break free and drown himself in a bathtub full of water. (Obviously this was a bath that had been run, but never utilized by one of my children...eh hem, Bobby).

The kids returned home from school only a few minutes before I hobbled through the door. This is when they realized the mystery that had befallen our humble home. Did someone come in our house just to drown this innocent little bird? Surely not. A ghost, perhaps. A ghost must had set the winged thing free only to seal it's doom. I seriously doubt it.

What did happen to such a poor little creature? G.M., K.L. and I assessed the scene and came to this conclusion: The bars on the birdcage are, at least, an inch apart. The bird must have shimmied his little body free of the prison that held him, at which point he likely flew directly into the bathroom (the cage hang very near that door). From there all remains a mystery.

I am privy to think that I am the ONLY woman on the face of the earth who could find and buy a depressive, suicidal bird. It's pathetic really, utterly pathetic.