RIP Mr Darcy

At the tender age of four my family had a dog. This dog was a black lab/German Shepherd mix. Her name was Jenny. Jenny was the sweetest and bestest dog in the world. She liked to chase birds.

It just so happened that a huge flock of pigeons liked to frequent our back yard. Every time they would land Jenny would go charging around the yard chasing them until they would fly away, only to repeat the process the next day.

One day Jenny got really lucky. There were so many pigeons that day that in the confusion of trying to fly away one was caught by our ever faithful canine companion. Jenny loved her new birdy so much she held on tight and shook it really hard. Like a slobbery spinning mouth hug. Sadly the fragile little birdy didn't fare so well from this lovin'.

Brother and I happened to be watching on this particular day and looked on in horror as Jenny loved on her her new birdy friend. We shrieked and cried for someone to save it. My grandfather swooped in and rescued the poor innocent bird and placed him in a shoe box. The image of that poor helpless bird is still burned into my memory. Most of it's feathers had been torn off, the rest were slobbered flat. It's skin was red and inflamed. Grandpa, seeing my distress, offered to take the birdy to the vet. Thank goodness for grandpas. He came home an hour later and, with sorrow in his voice, let us know that the vet's office did all they could for the birdy, but he wasn't going to make it. "Thanks anyways, Grandpa. You did all you could."




Flash forward seven years. My parents were having a dinner party with a couple friends. Brother and I were playing outside and decided that we wanted a drink. I entered the house and was frozen stiff as I heard these words flowing out of my dear grandfather's mouth:

"Jenny really mangled that bird. Rachel was so upset though, I couldn't just take care of it in front of her. So I put it in a box and took it around the block and stepped on it. I had to tell her I took it to the vet."

I was stunned into silence. The laughter in his voice was so contradictory. And the dinner guests were all similarly amused. How could they find any humor in the situation? Grandpa was a liar. He. Was. A. Murderer. I rounded the corner into the kitchen slowly, trying to keep my face composed as I looked into the eyes of a man I trusted my life to every day. A man who meant the world to me.

"You didn't take him to the vet?" My voice wavered and my eyes began to burn with tears, but I choked them back. "You told me you took the bird to the vet."

Stifling his laughter, Grandpa assured me that it was the only solution for the bird, and was the kindest thing to do. His face had changed though. No longer was I looking into the eyes of my kindly grandfather. I was looking at the face of a cold blooded killer. More than that, I was looking at the face of a liar. Seven years I had quietly and ignorantly believed that the bird who was in so much pain that day had gone to the vet to be saved. I discovered that day that no such measures were taken to revive the bird. Seven years I believed that it had had the proper burial deserved of birds viciously attacked. I recoiled in horror as I learned that he had been carelessly tossed in the trash in the alley.

And the kicker? As I looked around the dinner table at the other faces that looked at mine, which was now starting to streak with tears, I saw my parents. They had known too. All this time.....

I got over it eventually. Pretty quick actually. But I still would rather believe that an animal did not need to be killed, nor was it killed, except by euthanasia at a very old, well ripened age. Especially my pets. Jake and I bought two kittens two years ago and last summer one disappeared. As far as I'm concerned, she moved in with another family around the block. She didn't get eaten by coyotes. I have told Jake if he finds Jackie smooshed on the street to tell me a sad story about an orphan girl wanting a dog. Ok, I didn't really ask him to tell me that. But I might.

One of my parent's cats died on Sunday night. He was hit by a car. The neighbor found him in the street. I sort of wish they had told me he'd "moved in with someone around the corner." At least if he had had the decency to get eaten we could pretend. But instead he had the stupidity to sit in the road on a blind corner at night. RIP Mr Darcy.

He was the cuddliest kitty I've ever known