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05.01.04 - 10:32 a.m. My life is being controlled by my pet Connure, (parrot) Vondameer. He needs, yes needs, to be on my shoulder whenever I am home, and if I don't open the cage door and let him have his way he sounds like some kind of car alarm system. He yells, and he yells, and he yells, until either I carry him up to the spare bedroom to "enable him to look out the window at the other birds," or I give up and let him ride around on my shoulder. You would think it would be easier to just let him sit on my shoulder, but it gets so annoying. Now I know why my mother would freak out when all of us kids wanted to sit by her on the couch. There are times when you just don't want another living thing touching you...or chewing on your ears or tearing up your favorite shirt, or shitting on your shoulder. I flip-flop back and fort on what I want to do with him. I have entertained the idea of taking him back to the pet store and saying, "You know, I'm sorry, but this just isn't working out...." I did something similar with a pet rabbit I bought back in the day. They told me she would make a great house pet. She didn't. We would be sitting in the living room and one of the lights would flicker and then there would be a loud "POP!" It was 'Penny' chewing through the electrical cords again. She also chewed the carpet down to the wood underneith around the entire peremiter of the our living room. One time, while I was sitting in the living room watching T.V, I heard this horrible sound coming from the kitchen. I ran in to discover my cat, Stinky, was tied up in one of his Feather on the end of a Bouncy String toys and the rabbit was humping him from behind. It was then watching this trans-species rape that I knew it was time to take the rabbit back. I put penny in a paper sack and drove her back to the pet store. I snuck up to the building like a ninja and stuck the bunny-in-a-bag inside the door and ran as fast as I could back to my car. There was a note on the bag that said, "She wasn't a good housepet. It raped my cat." Even now, my parrot is making little tiny squawking sounds. I know him well enough to know these are warning sounds to let me know very soon he will be letting lose the sounds that cause my soul to go fetal inside. So, that means I must think of something to do outside...yes, I am going to leave my house to get away from my Hell-Bird. Pathetic. I do sorta love the little guy...probably for loving me so much. Maybe that is all part of his master plan? Make me believe that he is just way too co-dependant with his love for me so they can slowly (or not so) drive me totally fucking insane. Good thing he should only live to be about 25. Fuck.
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