parakeet

why should anyone feel grief for a dying parakeet? why should anyone drive home, talking to a sister for 45 minutes who knows about the dying bird, but not a word, and me talking about tomato juice and poetry.
then I drive up to the house, after a day of snow, thinking to ask if Cleo's been out in it yet, wondering about her reaction and whether or not she romped. and i walk into the garage and my mom is sitting there and she says "Rachel" in that tone I know—that tone that says "I have something really, really bad to tell you so prepare yourself," and I said "what?", panicked, and she said "Lady Fig got out of her cage today and I think she's dying."
i couldn't go in the house. i couldn't see that little bird crushed and struggling to breathe. my excitement at what the dog thought of the snow turned in an instant into total grief, and blame, because I saw a few days ago that the latch on the bird cage door was loose and thought I'll mention it to dad, and he'll fix it, and forgot.
and the worst feeling is, after walking in—after telling my dad to put the cage and the bird somewhere outside of the house--anywhere, just not in the house, and I don't know why I felt that way--but after walking in, Cleo was so happy I was home. She ran to my bedroom door with her big teddy bear and I slammed the door in her face--I caught her in the door and she cried. And I felt so awful, so guilty for hurting this dog, who killed my parakeet. She did what dogs do. Dogs like birds, and not as friends. So I opened my door and Cleo jumped on my bed and began suckling on her teddy bear and now she's lying on her back, her legs akimbo and she doesn't know that she killed a living thing I loved, and it is impossible to blame her for it.