My friend Lester told me a story about how he killed his parrot, Pip. Pip had a thing for a towel and would hump it on occasion. I never knew this about parrots, but when I thought about it, it made perfect sense.
One day Pip was on the couch under his towel, when Lester sat down to watch television. Lester got off the couch when he realized Pip had gone missing. He looked high and low for him and was in a panic. He finally thought to look underneath the towel and there was Pip, his neck was snapped. Lester took it hard. He loved Pip. He tried to put Pip's neck back on, but it didn't work out.
Lester was living in an apartment building with a courtyard at the time. It was a typical LA arrangement. He asked the gardener if he could bury Pip under a tree. "Of course," the gardener said.
Lester gave Pip a proper burial. He put him in a box and wrapped a necklace around him. Then he said a few words and apologized once more for killing him before placing him gently into the ground.
The next day there was a knock on the door. It was the gardener. He told Lester that raccoons had dug up the grave site in the middle of the night.
"Is there anything left?" Lester asked.
The grave site was in disarray. The box Pip lay in was torn up and his necklace was flung in the dirt. Lester took it hard.
It had been years since Pip's death. And when Lester told me this story we both had a few drinks in us. Lester has a way of using his hands when talking, and making face gestures to enhance the effect of what he's saying, like a clown. So needless to say we both laughed our asses off as he told the story.
One day Pip was on the couch under his towel, when Lester sat down to watch television. Lester got off the couch when he realized Pip had gone missing. He looked high and low for him and was in a panic. He finally thought to look underneath the towel and there was Pip, his neck was snapped. Lester took it hard. He loved Pip. He tried to put Pip's neck back on, but it didn't work out.
Lester was living in an apartment building with a courtyard at the time. It was a typical LA arrangement. He asked the gardener if he could bury Pip under a tree. "Of course," the gardener said.
Lester gave Pip a proper burial. He put him in a box and wrapped a necklace around him. Then he said a few words and apologized once more for killing him before placing him gently into the ground.
The next day there was a knock on the door. It was the gardener. He told Lester that raccoons had dug up the grave site in the middle of the night.
"Is there anything left?" Lester asked.
The grave site was in disarray. The box Pip lay in was torn up and his necklace was flung in the dirt. Lester took it hard.
It had been years since Pip's death. And when Lester told me this story we both had a few drinks in us. Lester has a way of using his hands when talking, and making face gestures to enhance the effect of what he's saying, like a clown. So needless to say we both laughed our asses off as he told the story.
