Nothing to See Here…

I’m an animal killer. 

There is a trail of stiff animal carcasses behind me you wouldn’t believe. 

I’ve been doing this mom thing for a lot of years. Behind me, is a history of dead hamsters and parakeets, goldfish and even some less common beasts – for example, an iguana (Otto) and a couple of sugar gliders (Rocky and Bullwinkle). Oh, yeah, and one cat.

In fact, an argument could be made that I remarried simply because I needed someone in the household willing to handle dead, stiff little rodents and such. I was tired of having to sneak them into the dumpster when the girls weren’t looking and then lying to them about conducting poignant little burial ceremonies while they were away at school.

Our longest living hamster was named Magic. We named her that before we knew she really WAS magic. She would escape (presto-chango – poof!) and we’d not find her for weeks. She would sneak out from her hiding places at night and eat from the dog’s bowl of kibble. Occasionally, Cricket (our toy poodle - five years old and I haven’t killed her yet!) would corner Magic behind the piano or the entertainment center but we’d still have the damnedest time getting her back to her cage. One time, she was on the lamb for over 3 months before we found her. Then, one day she was dead just like the rest of them.

They all die.

My four year old still firmly believes Magic lives behind the entertainment center. We tried to explain it all to her, but in the end, she took all the complex ‘death’ information and boiled it down like this “Mommy? Is heaven behind the entertainment center?” Being the agnostic that I am, that seemed as plausible a possibility as anything else, so I told her yes, in fact, that heaven WAS behind our entertainment center.

This doesn’t bode well for when Grandpa dies, but I suppose we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.

I met my current husband in 1992 when he came to be employed at the computer slum where I worked. He had a couple parakeets he was trying to pawn off find a home for. I told him thank you but no, my track record was baaaad. He assured me that these two parakeets were the most hearty, resilient little birds there were. They had traveled across the country several times, they had lived in a dorm for nearly a year. I can’t remember the rest – maybe they weathered the Atlantic crossing with Christopher Columbus or survived the Donner party or something. Whatever.

He finally convinced me to take them, and within a week they were dead. DEAD.

They all die.

I’m not sure why I’m telling you all this. Maybe it’s because I don’t think you should ever ask me to pet-sit while you’re out of town (for that matter, don’t ask me to water your plants either). Maybe if you are a person who makes little bitty pet headstones, you might want to put me on your mailing list. 

What I do know is this:  I have three more little girls and they are sure to talk me into buying some annoying little critters sometime in the future, so I don’t think my days of killing animals are quite over.

I guess here’s what I’m asking of you: if you DO pray, then please pray for my doomed pet-killing soul, alright? Because even if I don’t quite believe in all that religion stuff, if there is going to be some big-ass afterlife party behind my entertainment center, I kinda want to be there.