Saga of Dead Budgies
Knitting content, before I forget -- QueerJoe has posted a Beautiful Object d'Art (scroll down just past the darling baby) which can be knit up for deserving friends. Now, I'm not actually threatening anybody here -- not cause I'm too nice to do that, but simply cause I've done it too recently -- but it does seem to me that it were well for me to keep the directions, in case, in the future, somebody is found to really NEED a knit hat that looks like an English Breakfast. Without, I must say, the mushrooms and the tomatoes, being in this case a fry-up and not a mixed grill. I can't tell you how relieved I am to discover that I do not actually want to knit the hat for ME -- I've begun to worry a bit lately about the extensive nature of my eccentricity. Thought I might be getting a bit out of hand. But no. We've found my limit. I will not be wearing knitted eggs on my head. Sorry, graduate students. I know you would have enjoyed it.
We're having a little tragedy around here today. A very little tragedy, but we're sorrowful. One of the budgies, Duille, has been found dead on the bottom of the cage. Now, we keep two budgies always, so that they can bond with each other, since the budgies have to bond with someone, and we're not around enough for them and it's just too creepy when budgies bond with those budgies in the mirror.
We've had a string of budgies. First there was Angel, a white budgie I inherited from one of the graduate students, and then I bought Cecily, a green budgie, to keep her company, and then Angel died, and we bought Welkin, a blue budgie (25 points to whomever can tell me why we named her Welkin) , and then Cecily died, and we bought Sunny, a yellow budgie, and then Welkin died, and we bought Duille, a green budgie (50 points to whomever can tell me why she was named Duille), and now Duille is dead. And we can't go buy Sunny a new friend cause it's so piercingly horribly cold we're afraid we couldn't get the new bird back to the car without the new bird keeling over. So Sunny is sitting by herself, singing little songs, and breaking our hearts.
We're not actually heartbroken about Duille's demise, except that the child and I don't especially want to know what Sam did with her -- the ground is too frozen for the usual Meaningful Budgie Funeral (I am Really Good at funerals) -- as we don't get that deeply attached to the budgies individually. We're in love with the budgie relationships.
They get SO bonded. And Sunny and Duille were VERY close friends. Very. They spent every waking minute cuddled up together saying sweet things to each other, and feeding each other, except when they were performing tricks on the plastic rings in order to impress each other (Ah! My love! How elegant is your play among the plastic rings of our people!) or, occasionally, as a bit of spice, having a little spat over the bird seed, after which they would make up and get all sweet again.
If you're used to living with that sort of action going on in the sitting room corner, every morning, every afternoon, every evening, then it's too damn awful when what you've got is one solitary bird sitting alone in the cage bravely singing in case her true love, who has recently escaped, is lost and needs to hear the sweet dulcet tones of her beloved budgie friend so that she can return home.
Oh, lord, I am just gonna die here. I have to go lie down.
Or maybe read something really bracing. Something really anti-romance. Oooh, I know. Where's my copy of Don Juan?
We're having a little tragedy around here today. A very little tragedy, but we're sorrowful. One of the budgies, Duille, has been found dead on the bottom of the cage. Now, we keep two budgies always, so that they can bond with each other, since the budgies have to bond with someone, and we're not around enough for them and it's just too creepy when budgies bond with those budgies in the mirror.
We've had a string of budgies. First there was Angel, a white budgie I inherited from one of the graduate students, and then I bought Cecily, a green budgie, to keep her company, and then Angel died, and we bought Welkin, a blue budgie (25 points to whomever can tell me why we named her Welkin) , and then Cecily died, and we bought Sunny, a yellow budgie, and then Welkin died, and we bought Duille, a green budgie (50 points to whomever can tell me why she was named Duille), and now Duille is dead. And we can't go buy Sunny a new friend cause it's so piercingly horribly cold we're afraid we couldn't get the new bird back to the car without the new bird keeling over. So Sunny is sitting by herself, singing little songs, and breaking our hearts.
We're not actually heartbroken about Duille's demise, except that the child and I don't especially want to know what Sam did with her -- the ground is too frozen for the usual Meaningful Budgie Funeral (I am Really Good at funerals) -- as we don't get that deeply attached to the budgies individually. We're in love with the budgie relationships.
They get SO bonded. And Sunny and Duille were VERY close friends. Very. They spent every waking minute cuddled up together saying sweet things to each other, and feeding each other, except when they were performing tricks on the plastic rings in order to impress each other (Ah! My love! How elegant is your play among the plastic rings of our people!) or, occasionally, as a bit of spice, having a little spat over the bird seed, after which they would make up and get all sweet again.
If you're used to living with that sort of action going on in the sitting room corner, every morning, every afternoon, every evening, then it's too damn awful when what you've got is one solitary bird sitting alone in the cage bravely singing in case her true love, who has recently escaped, is lost and needs to hear the sweet dulcet tones of her beloved budgie friend so that she can return home.
Oh, lord, I am just gonna die here. I have to go lie down.
Or maybe read something really bracing. Something really anti-romance. Oooh, I know. Where's my copy of Don Juan?
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