Saturday I was at work and got a frantic phone call from Derek. “Hello,” I answered. “I’M FREAKING OUT!” was his reply.
Now the child was at his aunts so it had to be something involving an animal. Oh so many animals to choose from. This time around it was a chicken. Let’s just say a larger bird thought that one of our chickens would make a nice snack. I am not going to divulge the type of larger bird nor will I show you the photo I took of it because if I did then I’d have to kill you and then I would have fewer readers.
Anyway, this story isn’t really about the big bird attacking the little bird, but it does end with a shovel, a black plastic garbage bag and my husband claiming to now be qualified to work for Tony Soprano.
The story is really about how we weren’t exactly going to tell the small child what happened only my husband put it on Facebook and then my sister-in-law told the child. Really? This is like that time the dog jumped out of the moving car onto a busy street. You don’t tell the child. There are things you just don’t tell this particular child. His mind is a very scary place.
So yesterday, we’re walking home from the bus and I go to check for eggs. As I’m opening the gate the boy asks, “mom, can I see the bird.” Meaning the bird that involves the black plastic garbage bag.
Oh hell no!
I am not showing that to my 7 year old. My over imaginative 7 year old. The one that told the neighbor to not forget his flashlight for his upcoming Caribbean cruise because he saw a news report that a bunch of people aboard the Costa Concordia were saved because they had flashlights. The same child that believes nothing but doom will come from flying Delta airlines because one time we went to California and had a helluva time getting home.
I can just see it now. Limp stuffed animals littered across his bedroom floor.