|Pinky's shell serves as a gravestone.|
Nothing could be further from the truth. Pinky was fed nightly leftovers from our dinner table, much to Luna's chagrin. In fact, she often got to exercise ON the dinner table during dinner. She even inspired her own Christmas song.
I wish I could say Pinky will be missed. She eventually became more of a hassle than anything. She was purely the responsibility of My Director, who refused to refer to Pinky by her correct gender. This forced an exasperated Peanut to constantly correct her, with no success. Perhaps this provides us a George Bailey-esque snapshot of what our house would be like without me. I make the meals in our house. Perhaps if she did, we'd all go the way of Pinky. (I'd also like to point out that the dogs are also my responsibility. I am happy to report they are well-fed, walked, happy and generally in good health. I also know which one is a girl and which is a boy.)
As we buried Pinky in the rock garden in our backyard, we each said a few words. When it was Peanut's turn, she said My Director took what she was going to say. "Are you going to miss Pinky?" I asked. She nodded her head in agreement. "Then just say, 'Goodbye Pinky. I'll miss you." And she did. Afterwards, I remembered a time when I called Pinky ugly and Peanut defended her, saying she's just as beautiful as her or mommy. That didn't do anything to lift our ambivalence about the whole situation. Then we had dinner and went out for fro-yo.
|Lady MacBeth dug the hole.|
("What? I never dug a hole before?")
Pinky was not mentioned again. Her cage now sits upside down, drying next to the sink. I can tell you I am just about over all of the pet drama.
In lieu of flowers we ask you read THIS POST, inspired by happier times with Pinky.