On one of our annual summer visits to our fathers house, my brother got a parakeet for his birthday. A little blue and white one that he named Gino (later Gina, after it was old enough for gender ID). While we were in the bird store, a woman asked my stepmother, "Gail", what kind of bedding to get for two macaws. She told them cedar wood shavings would do, and they bought a large bag and left while we were still in the store.
Now, the thing is macaw droppings react with cedar to produce some toxic (to them) gas, and they will suffer seizures and quite possibly death. We didn't find this out until later that night while Gail chit chatted with my father, who upon hearing this tried calling the pet store, but they were closed, and even when he finally did get in touch the store had no way of finding the people. Sooo... two dead $1400 birds, unless the owners were smart enough or had the resources to correct the mistake. However, this was in semi-bumblefuck South Carolina, in an era when dial-up was still going strong, so unless they were net savvy middle aged bible belt denizens, or lived near a library (let alone knew where any were), they probably didn't realize until it was too late.
Anyway, she was not done, so one night she had her lovebird, Buster, out. This was bad. This was a female lovebird that had never gotten laid, and the bitch was a demon. This thing would go directly for your ears and bite as absolutely hard as it could. Sometimes it would let you perch it, only to lull you into a false sense of security as it bites the skin between your thumb and finger. Now, take that and throw in a smaller, younger female bird and think about that. Did you see a parakeet with one leg and a broken bloody wing? I sure did. Poor thing bled out within a day. God damn that woman was stupid.
It wasn't just birds Gail had a habit of killing. Several dogs have lost their lives at her hands, one of them just a puppy. The first murder was that of her longtime black lab cleverly named Midnight. Midnight was an outside dog, and would often seek refuge from the heat in the shade of one of the cars. On the day in question, she was under my stepmother's, right in line with the wheel. As Gail backed up, she went right over the dog, then, wondering what that bump was all about, put it in drive and went right back over Midnight, finishing off with a little doggie yelp. Sad and such, she got a replacement puppy, but forgot that outside dogs need water and the little guy died of heat exhaustion. The third one was a German Shepherd, which snapped the puppy leash she totally spaced out on replacing and promptly got hit by a truck. No more dogs after that.
Those are all the suspicious murder cases for Gail, but luckily for me and my therapist's bank account my parents also allowed me to witness the demises of beloved furry friends. I had a turtle for a week, that my dad thought would be chipper to bring to my daycare as a 'class pet'. Well, these daycare workers cared jack shit about a herd of 4 year olds playing with a turtle that they "set it free" in the back playground. We found it a week later in a pile of leaves, which I threw up into the air to see the turtle crash to the ground. I brought it to Snack Lady (I don't remember their names), and she was all "Ooh, what's that?" One little bastard said that we found it on its back, and that they die when that happens, so the stupid bitch just put the squirming turtle in the fucking garbage can, and no matter what I said she wouldn't take it out. I cried for I don't even know how long.
Around the same time I had two cats. One was Tee Tee (he had a sixth toe on his front paws and they stuck out like 't's), but he ran all the way back to his original owners house (the only animal I ever owned that didn't get killed, btw). Then we got Tiger, and he was just swell. I pet him and he didn't claw my ass up, he played with little balls of whatever, and all around was an awesome cat. Until my mom killed him. He liked to nap on the garage door when it was open, and my mom closed it one night without calling him down and he got pinned on the top of the door. We discovered this as we loaded up in the car to go to daycare. I think I was getting numb to the pain already.
Fast forward a few years when my mom caved and got us a cat, then another. The second one, Tigger (I did not name him that, he came with it, but ironically he was the same breed as Tiger) climbed up on my lap while I was on the computer one day. He did his usual craw up on my shoulders, but I was hunched forward too much that he fell back and broke his neck on the desk, collapsing into a violent seizure and dying. On my lap. The older cat, Skittles, got fleas when we moved to our new house, got very depressed, and on top of a lifetime diet of dry cat food (we just didn't know), just stopped eating and died.
Most recently, I had a hand in the death of a family pet. My grandfather was in physical rehab for a few months after a fall, and I was tasked with checking up on the cat. I did good for a few weeks, but one day I forgot to check in, and later forgot that I forgot, so in all a week passed before I got back. This was November, so we had the heat in my grandfather's apartment going, on low but still. This seemed to speed up the evaporation process of the water bowl, and even with one of those large water cooler type dishes the cat was dry for some time. She was almost immobilized, but only barely able to drag herself to the water bowl or the litter box, which after a while wasn't even possible. She lingered for a few days, went blind and just wasted away. I felt terrible, because my grandfather had only that cat to remind him of his deceased wife and daughter, both of whom were former owners of the cat.
That's the gist, right now I have a 3 year old dog that has had some close calls but so far so good. She's my first dog, so yeah, I'm going to be sad as hell when she does finally die a decade or so from now (dear god please let it be a full life).
Oh yeah and lots of fish. I think the water where I lived was, like, sub-par. They grew tumors on their eyes. I'm glad we moved.
Now, the thing is macaw droppings react with cedar to produce some toxic (to them) gas, and they will suffer seizures and quite possibly death. We didn't find this out until later that night while Gail chit chatted with my father, who upon hearing this tried calling the pet store, but they were closed, and even when he finally did get in touch the store had no way of finding the people. Sooo... two dead $1400 birds, unless the owners were smart enough or had the resources to correct the mistake. However, this was in semi-bumblefuck South Carolina, in an era when dial-up was still going strong, so unless they were net savvy middle aged bible belt denizens, or lived near a library (let alone knew where any were), they probably didn't realize until it was too late.
Anyway, she was not done, so one night she had her lovebird, Buster, out. This was bad. This was a female lovebird that had never gotten laid, and the bitch was a demon. This thing would go directly for your ears and bite as absolutely hard as it could. Sometimes it would let you perch it, only to lull you into a false sense of security as it bites the skin between your thumb and finger. Now, take that and throw in a smaller, younger female bird and think about that. Did you see a parakeet with one leg and a broken bloody wing? I sure did. Poor thing bled out within a day. God damn that woman was stupid.
It wasn't just birds Gail had a habit of killing. Several dogs have lost their lives at her hands, one of them just a puppy. The first murder was that of her longtime black lab cleverly named Midnight. Midnight was an outside dog, and would often seek refuge from the heat in the shade of one of the cars. On the day in question, she was under my stepmother's, right in line with the wheel. As Gail backed up, she went right over the dog, then, wondering what that bump was all about, put it in drive and went right back over Midnight, finishing off with a little doggie yelp. Sad and such, she got a replacement puppy, but forgot that outside dogs need water and the little guy died of heat exhaustion. The third one was a German Shepherd, which snapped the puppy leash she totally spaced out on replacing and promptly got hit by a truck. No more dogs after that.
Those are all the suspicious murder cases for Gail, but luckily for me and my therapist's bank account my parents also allowed me to witness the demises of beloved furry friends. I had a turtle for a week, that my dad thought would be chipper to bring to my daycare as a 'class pet'. Well, these daycare workers cared jack shit about a herd of 4 year olds playing with a turtle that they "set it free" in the back playground. We found it a week later in a pile of leaves, which I threw up into the air to see the turtle crash to the ground. I brought it to Snack Lady (I don't remember their names), and she was all "Ooh, what's that?" One little bastard said that we found it on its back, and that they die when that happens, so the stupid bitch just put the squirming turtle in the fucking garbage can, and no matter what I said she wouldn't take it out. I cried for I don't even know how long.
Around the same time I had two cats. One was Tee Tee (he had a sixth toe on his front paws and they stuck out like 't's), but he ran all the way back to his original owners house (the only animal I ever owned that didn't get killed, btw). Then we got Tiger, and he was just swell. I pet him and he didn't claw my ass up, he played with little balls of whatever, and all around was an awesome cat. Until my mom killed him. He liked to nap on the garage door when it was open, and my mom closed it one night without calling him down and he got pinned on the top of the door. We discovered this as we loaded up in the car to go to daycare. I think I was getting numb to the pain already.
Fast forward a few years when my mom caved and got us a cat, then another. The second one, Tigger (I did not name him that, he came with it, but ironically he was the same breed as Tiger) climbed up on my lap while I was on the computer one day. He did his usual craw up on my shoulders, but I was hunched forward too much that he fell back and broke his neck on the desk, collapsing into a violent seizure and dying. On my lap. The older cat, Skittles, got fleas when we moved to our new house, got very depressed, and on top of a lifetime diet of dry cat food (we just didn't know), just stopped eating and died.
Most recently, I had a hand in the death of a family pet. My grandfather was in physical rehab for a few months after a fall, and I was tasked with checking up on the cat. I did good for a few weeks, but one day I forgot to check in, and later forgot that I forgot, so in all a week passed before I got back. This was November, so we had the heat in my grandfather's apartment going, on low but still. This seemed to speed up the evaporation process of the water bowl, and even with one of those large water cooler type dishes the cat was dry for some time. She was almost immobilized, but only barely able to drag herself to the water bowl or the litter box, which after a while wasn't even possible. She lingered for a few days, went blind and just wasted away. I felt terrible, because my grandfather had only that cat to remind him of his deceased wife and daughter, both of whom were former owners of the cat.
That's the gist, right now I have a 3 year old dog that has had some close calls but so far so good. She's my first dog, so yeah, I'm going to be sad as hell when she does finally die a decade or so from now (dear god please let it be a full life).
Oh yeah and lots of fish. I think the water where I lived was, like, sub-par. They grew tumors on their eyes. I'm glad we moved.
