When I was a toddler, my parents got a bird. A parrot, actually. I searched Google images to try to figure out what kind it was, but I can't remember what it looked liked, so that didn't really help. Anyway, my parrot's name was Dr. Pepper. Dr. Pepper was awesome and made me happy.
Then, when I was about to turn four, my brother was born. My brother did not make Dr. Pepper happy, so he tried to kill my brother by taking nosedives at his tender infant head. My parents got rid of him. The bird, not my brother. I was heartbroken and convinced they made the wrong choice. Sometimes I still am.
I love that you blogged this. Very fun memory. Me personally? I hate birds....not always that fond of little brothers either (I have three), but still, I hate birds more.
ReplyDeleteI had a parakeet that was not nearly as gutsy and awesome as Dr. Pepper. My cat, Killer, at Lemon Merengue. I wrote a story about how the cat "nailed" my defenseless bird and it got published. All of this is to say...write more about birds because they bring good literary fortune?
ReplyDelete@akpeach--My brother is actually pretty awesome, but that bird was pure badassery!
ReplyDelete@j-pan--Poor Lemon Merengue! I would love to read the story, though!