There was a dead bird on my living room floor. You guys. I cannot make this stuff up.
Tuck discovered him. “Oh. Oh-my-gosh. This is the freakiest thing – there’s a dead crow.” And I was sure he was wrong, and probably Murphy had chewed up my wrist guard from last winter’s sledding incident, and it just looked like a black bird from far away because how could anything else possibly be true.
But no, Tucker speaks truth. Spoke. Spake. It was a dead bird. In my house. On my carpet.
The three of us stood around the bird and stared. And let me tell you, spiders ‘ain’t no thing’ compared to a freaking dead bird. With splayed feathers.
Who can I call to take care of this for me? This cannot be happening, and so who is going to fix it? A dead bird? Really?
I got the broom and rolled his carcass into the dust pan. And let me tell you, that thing wasn’t skeletal. He had recently been alive.
I put him on the dustpan stretcher, and I headed out to the mailbox on the treeline of the cul de sac, and I lobbed the bird into the woods. And then I ran back to the house like I was playing Ghost in the Graveyard, like there was the spirit of a blackbird pecking at the back of my neck.
I still don’t know how this happened. Maybe Murphy brought him in, but I don’t know how since I’m raising him to be a gentleman and the bird was nearly as big as him anyway.
Maybe he got sucked in through the attic fan. But it seems like there should be more of a mess of feathers and entrails upstairs if that’s how he got in. (Let’s just thank the blue skies right now that there are not feathers and entrails upstairs.)
Maybe he hopped in through the open back door. But that would have been tricky since he only had one foot and no eyes.
I don’t know. I have to choose not to speculate since I already cannot unsee what has happened. Or unmemorize the weight of a bird in a dustpan.
Tucker proposes we can never leave the door open, turn on the fan, or let Murphy outside – ever again. Tyler suggests we take Murphy to the vet tomorrow, since I once told Tyler to never touch a dead bird because of all the bird diseases.
I just pretty much think I’m going to have to move out.
This is the creepiest thing that has happened here. Well, the bull snake in the driveway was pretty horrific. But this incident happened in my living room. And let me just say right now that if those situations crossbred and a bull snake came into my living room, you can bet your sweet bippy that I would sell the house and all its contents to the highest bidder, I would leave and never come back, and I would show up on your doorstep with two children and no belongings to our name.
I did not move to the country. I live in the suburbs, people.Ladies, kiss your husbands and boyfriends tonight, if for no other reason than you didn’t have to manhandle a bird carcass tonight.