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.
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.