If you missed my account of ‘Tiger Lily’ the assassin goldfish and my escapee terrapins, check it out here.
And now onto the next poor sods to ever cross my path, the mini-dinosaurs of the world – the birds.
It must be a sad life being a bird trapped in a cage, and an even sadder one if you happen to be my bird trapped in a cage.
‘Bonnie’ and ‘Clyde’, ‘blue’ and ‘grey’, ‘sad’ and ‘sadder’. Something just didn’t feel right owning an animal made to fly the skies on blustery days. They were gifts from my guilty parents who thought the equivalent to a trip to Scotland for my brother with his local football team at age 13 equated to the my sister and I unwillingly having two squawking buzzards thrusted upon us, with the added level of difficulty being that we were actually expected to keep them alive for more than a week. Baring in mind my 12 year old self was barely able to brush my teeth in the morning, this was mission impossible.
To be fair they lasted longer than I had anticipated, ultimately however, mine contracted an undetected mite in the pet shop long before we knew anything about it, sadly. Poor thing plucked its feathers out as if it were in preparation for the roasting tin on Christmas Day. Shame it didn’t get that far *to 25th December ……not the oven …….ahem
One day it was blue and feathery , the next patchy and leathery. There was sadly nothing we could do for him. Really, the pet shop should’ve informed us, but then again, perhaps they didn’t even know themselves. Not long after ‘Clyde’ popped his clogs so too did his partner in crime ‘Bonnie’. I’m not sure if it was heartache or the mite infection that had spread to him aswell because we could see that he was slowly losing his feathers too. It’s sad to think about, so I better change the topic and talk about something far more exhilarating – SNAIL RACING!
Yes, I’m sure you were getting all giddy inside thinking about them too! I used to love snatching snails from my garden only to have them whizz down the makeshift racing courses I drew for them out of a scrap pieces of paper.
And before you start calling it gastropod abuse, I was exercising them and actually……preventing them from being gobbled up by the local gulls if only for a brief moment in time.
I used to love betting against my sister on who’s snails would win, most of the time we got bored as they travelled up the track, time waits for no man, and I wasn’t waiting for the snail to reach the finish line. So most of the time we just got distracted with something else and left the snails to their own devices, who knows perhaps we ate them in our sleep.
Those lucky, or shall I say unlucky winners of the race, which was seldom the case were set free outside again and probably preyed upon by a crow moments after their release. But let’s remain hopeful, they were released and reproduced many times…..there, that sounds better.
And on that happy note, don’t hesitate to check out the final pt lll – the cats vs dogs chronicles. It’s not to be missed! Saving the best til last of course.
Until then, take care!