House-Guest

So, we have a new house-guest.  My parents are going to Ireland on vacation so that means we got a bird bundled up in a basket on our door step.  Okay, maybe it was delivered in a cage and it wasn’t bundled up or swaddled like a baby.  But at this point I would welcome an infant in a basket as opposed to a bird in a cage.  My worst nightmare has come true… Chase has fallen in love.  Beak over feet, in-love.

Yesterday, Chase and I were driving down the road and all of a sudden Chase shrieked, “Mama!”  I jerked my head back to see who was stabbing my child (because that would have been the only reason anyone would shriek like that) and he continued in a calm voice (I’m starting to think he may have multiple personalities similar to Sybil), “we have a pet, his name is Tweety.”  Um, no little one, we have a visitor… say it with me, a visitor.    

I am not a pet person, mainly for the reason that pets require work and are added responsibility (I know what you’re thinking- don’t you just have to feed it?  Yes, you have to feed it; everyday.  I can hardly remember to feed myself most days).  I had buyer’s remorse after purchasing a fish for Chase over a year ago.  The darn thing just won’t die.  I swear it’s staying alive to just taunt me.  

On a side note: Chase has only thrown one toy at Tweety and only accidentally put one book on top of Tweety.  I fear Tweety may meet his maker before my parents return.  Then I’ll have to do what my dad has always done; buried our dead birds (yes, plural) in the backyard in a Schwan’s chicken wings box (Yeah, this is the stuff I grew up around.  It took me many years to realize this wasn't normal).