Week 14: mini-research; before writing--

Five weeks ago I got a phone call from my best friend, up in the county. As soon as I said my normal "Hellooo sis" she proceeds to say...

"Hi… Can you take more birds?"

“Umm, no. I have my Cockatiels and that is enough, but thanks for asking!” At this point she proceeds to tell me that she had been made aware of a breeding pair of Doves and their chick from 2008. The pair had ‘accidently’ gotten together again and mated. The woman who owned the Doves had made it clear that she no longer wanted the birds and planned to let them go.

“Give me her number, and don’t call me anymore about this stuff. I can’t afford it!”

Forty five minutes later I began the hour and a half journey to go get my new wards. Upon inspection of the living conditions of the birds it was all I could do not to drive the woman’s head through the wall. The three birds were in two cages. The cage for the breeding pair was divided into two sections. The bottom of each section was almost entirely covered with feces, and the water in the dishes, well… it was pretty slimy. The chick from 2008, which is now almost four years old, was in a cage so small, he could not turn around without his tail feather rubbing the side of the cage. The bottom of his cage had to have had at least a solid inch of feces. His water dish was empty and dry and there was no food dish in either cage.

“What does their diet consist of?” I asked the woman, Angie or something like that. I really didn’t care enough to remember. She looked at me as if puzzled for a moment.

“Oh! The mamma likes black sunflower seeds, and they get bread and a few wild bird seeds once in a while. I’m all out though.” I look at her trying to maintain my temper.

“I don’t want the little cage. I have a clean one in my car. I need to take the big cage though. I only have one big enough at home.”

“Oh, are you sure you don’t want the little cage? I’m just going to throw it away.”

“Honestly that cage is better off being thrown away in that condition.” I transferred  the birds into the smaller cages I brought from home and cover them with blankets. After battling the big cage into my back seat I head home.


Much to my surprise two days later the Mamma dove laid an egg. My expertise in birds carries only to Cockatiels, not Doves. Scrambling to find where I put the nesting material I make a half assed nest and place the egg into it. Mamma just looked at it, computer time. Getting online I start searching everything I can about Doves, their diet, housing, breeding, chicks… If it had to do with Doves I probably searched for it.

An experienced pair of Doves will lay their first egg and actually let it sit until the second egg is laid. At that point they will begin incubating the eggs at the same time. The incubation period for Doves is about fourteen days. A Dove can starve to death in a matter of twenty-four hours, and they definitely need more than black sunflower seed and friggin bread. Doves do not husk their seeds, therefore they require grit. This had never been provided for them. How they had managed to survive as long as she had them is beyond me. They feed their chick’s crop milk for the first few days then gradually add more and more seed to the mix. They enjoy millet sprays (boy do they ever) and fruits and vegetables, especially corn, spinach, and broccoli in this case. Broccoli consumption should be moderate because it affects how the bird will absorb calcium.

The chicks will fledge the nest, generally, around three to four weeks of age. Again, in this case, it was about two and a half weeks, with much prodding from daddy. Mamma began attacking the chicks yesterday, at just over three weeks of age and I had to remove them from the cage.

Still working on the re-homing. The issue will be finding someone who will really take care of them and can afford to do so.

Week 10 ; Enlisting the reader; Opinion

Abortion. Even the word is ugly, but who am I to say if it is right or wrong? I understand people have to do what they have to do. I'm not saying I could ever do it, but sometimes shit really does happen.

For example, have you ever seen a woman on the street that you just know, I mean know, has a substance abuse problem? Let’s just say this particular woman has been shooting up for oh... seven years, at least. Oh yeah! Let's not forget that she is now six months pregnant, and showing no signs of slowing down. Honestly now... think about that babies quality of life, if it even survived to birth. Can you imagine being brought into this world suffering from withdrawals? The pain that alone will cause, the sickness, and all the other issues that come from substance abuse in pregnant mothers. Then you have the mother herself, who apparently does not care enough about her own child to try to protect and spare this baby all the misery. Granted, that’s not always the case, and again, I do not support abortion. I'm just saying... what would you really think in this situation? Would you say "Oh I hope everything turns out ok.” Or, would you be more like "Jesus that dumb bitch should have had an abortion for that baby’s sake. She doesn't deserve a child and a child deserves better." I most likely would choose the latter, even given my position on the topic. And yes, I do understand some babies are born with miraculously little wrong with them, I’m talking extreme here.

My biggest issue right now, when it comes to abortion, is the people who protest. When I put my two and four year olds in the car and drive them to childcare, I don’t really want them to see gigantic fucking signs put up on the side of the road that have pictures of bloody chopped and torn apart babies. There is a time and place for everything. Should there not be a limit to what they can do? Laws, freedom and all of that, yes I know. I know, but really? My toddler needs to look at that because they don’t like it? I need to find a longer way to get where I need to go so my children aren’t subjected to those horrifying images? Let me just say, I struggle to pay for gas now; I can’t take a longer way.

I understand their point, as many do. But what do you think. Would their time be better spent doing something other than just standing on the side of the road, holding signs, terrifying mothers who are already terrified?  What if one of those mothers just happened to be getting an abortion because it was a matter of life and death? “I’m sorry, but you only have two choices. You can continue with this pregnancy with only a ten percent chance of survival for both you and the baby or, you can terminate the pregnancy now before it’s too late.” Now let’s add a little more to the story. This now hysterically crying young mother also has two other children and her husband left her for his young, hot, childless co-worker. Extreme, but it could happen. What now? She goes to the clinic and can’t bring herself to do it because of the signs? Those fucking signs. Let’s just hope that ten percent chance is enough.  Doesn’t it seem like an invasion on her rights? She shouldn’t have to see that. Neither should my children or anyone else’s.

Week 2 Redone

The personalities between the two are apparent immediately. Both women are small in stature, but the way they hold the bodies speaks volumes. The smaller of the two stands with her head tilted down and I can see her eyes darting back and forth, as if she expects someone to jump at her. Her hands are in her pocket as she shuffles her feet.

“Jesus Sandy! Put your fucking shoes where they belong! Out of all the pairs of shoes yours are the only ones not facing the right way! It’s not like it’s that fucking hard.” Katherine, the other woman, stands glaring across the room, waiting for her words to be followed.

They are, without hesitation. Sandy scurries to the door, turns her shoes the right way and stands back up, returning to her previous stance of nervousness. She reminds me of a dog I met once. A beautiful Akita, black lab mix that had been through hell. That poor dog, beaten and abandoned, neglected, abused and abandoned again, before she finally got life by the ass and found the perfect home. Unfortunately she was scarred. Her head would sink low and her eyes would dart around at the slightest sign of tension, like Sandy’s are now.

“Did you drop the tires of at the garage yet?” Katherine asks as she puffs her chest out a little. Her back is stick straight with her hands on her hips. Sandy says something, so muffled and slurred together that Katherine jumps on her again

“What? What the fuck is wrong with you? Open your mouth and talk. Christ! Did you take the tires to the garage?” This last sentence was said in a slow drawn out manner, like they do in the movies when they are implying someone is… slow.

“Not yet… I didn’t have time.” Sandy turns and starts down the hall to her room.

“You didn’t have time?” Katherine’s hands go up in the air as she speaks. “What the fuck did you do all day? What? You sat at Dunkin Donuts for a couple hours, then what? You’re telling me you couldn’t take twenty minutes and drop off the god damned tires so he can get it done? You know this whole world doesn’t revolve around you. He should fucking charge you for storage time cuz your damn truck is just sitting there. You wanna get that taken care of, sooner rather than later.”

Sandy says nothing, and goes down the hall to her room. Katherine turns around and walks to the sink as she continues to bitch. “Jesus, I’m so sick of spoon feeding her. I don’t know what the fuck she is thinking but she must have dementia kicking in or something. She just keeps getting worse and worse. Can’t ever understand a fucking word she says. She can move the fuck out for all I care. I’m done. I’m just all done.”

Week 9: fiction and fact: speculative piece

After hours of battling with my two year old, who has now mastered climbing out of his crib, I finally get him to sleep. I stand for a moment looking at my boys. God they can be so difficult! Hunters’ mouth is beyond crazy and Nick is learning everything he knows from his big brother and then some.  I wonder what my life would have been like if I had never met their father.

I was doing so well for myself in so many ways. Not so good in others. After the loss of my daughter I worked all the time. When I wasn’t working I was drinking. Between the three jobs I hardly ever slept, but sleep has never been a big issue for me. Somehow my body has grown accustomed to two to four hours of sleep a night.  Before I met Eric, my kids’ father, I was getting caught up on everything that had been dragging me down financially. I worked hard and liked it. It kept me busy, kept me from thinking.  Such a simple process, to think… and at times a devastating one.

If I had been a smart girl I would have seen all the signs. How he had a drink every time he came to Judy’s, which was where I worked at the time. I could have saved myself so much, the screaming, the threats… the violence, the ever increasing mental anguish that became my life for three years.  I found myself so full of hate all the time that I was unbearable to even myself. What if I hadn’t met him? Could I have been any happier? I think not.

As horrible as it was with him, I believe I would have ended up a lot more like my mother. I like to drink, and I did… a lot. Without the responsibilities of my family would I have taken that path? Yes… I would have needed the distraction. Distractions are necessary when the mind whirls around at hundreds of miles per hour. 

I would have continued to work as much as I could because, let’s face it; we all like to have spending money.  I partied with Jill from time to time. We always got in trouble… I would like to think I’m smart enough not to fall into the drugs like she did, but would I have? Would the never ending want for some kind of human interaction outside of work lead me to it? Too many what ifs!

Undoubtedly, if I had not had my children, I would not have made it back to school. I would be stuck in some dead end, unsatisfying job. That in its self could lead to more drinking. I could think of a million good things that could have happened, lucky breaks and such, but in reality, I think if I had not met the asshole and gotten “tied down”, so to speak, things would be worse in too many ways. I was disappearing into my own black hole; the hell of Eric brought me out of it.