It all started with a baby bunny.

At the very end of our Easter visit to Grandma and Grandpa’s, Jack the dog flushed two baby bunnies out of a rabbit nest. The kids rescued them and determined to keep them. I forced them, amid much arguing, to place the bunnies back in the nest. We entered the van with tears and sadness.

An image from my handwritten journal.

On the drive home, I tried to distract. I filled the car with stories of the many wild animals I had brought home — stories that mostly ended in dead or escaped animals. The only animal that ever worked out was a pigeon I found with a broken wing. He thrived in my care, and one day flew away.

I told the kids that later, I owned homing pigeons.

Edward asked, “Why did you get rid of them?”

I told him, “I was a cool teenager. I didn’t have time for them anymore.”

He asked, “How much did you sell them for?”

I told him, “I don’t remember.” That made me think, I wish I would have journaled back then. It would be nice to remember some of those details.

The stupidest decision of my life

I wish I still had those birds.They were an amazing pet. They had the capability of running away in epic fashion — They were birds, for goodness sake! How would you ever get them back once they have flown off. Yet, they seemed to be hard-wired to return to their home coop. I could even take them miles away, and they would find their way back home.

Why didn’t they run?

They did not run, because they loved me. I mean, I bribed them with food and protection. But I choose to think they loved me.