Not Even A Peep

Caren heard this bit on the radio a few months back.  The DJ’s were noting that they don’t know any funny vegetarians or vegans.  Caren and I laughed as we struggled to think of a vegetarian/vegan with a sense of humor.  (My apologies to my readers who fall under these categories i.e. vegetarianism, veganism or notfunnyism.)

Last night I was making dinner and having a rather fun time of it.  My iPod played and I had a glass of red to sip while I browned garlic, onions and ground beef in prep for spaghetti sauce.  Man was home and helping Bug with his homework.  Buddy suspiciously had no homework, but I was not going to worry about that until the morrow.  A cool fall evening was wafting through the screen door off of the kitchen.

I turned from the stove to throw something away in the trash.  That’s when I saw Sasha at the screen door with our pullet, Peep, in her mouth.  (Pullet: too young to be called a hen, to old to be called a chick.  At least that’s my understanding.)  I covered my eyes, turned away and screamed all at the same time.  Man rushed in asking what was wrong.  He saw Sasha as the boys were rushing into the kitchen to see why I screamed.

“Don’t come in!” Man yelled at the boys.

“Why?  What’s wrong?”

“I tell you in a little bit.  Just don’t come in any further.”

Bug went back to the table to work on his homework and Buddy descended back into the basement to play some nerd game on the computer.  I tried to go back to browning the meat but kept gagging.  It was taking Man an awful long time to “take care” of things.  I looked out the side deck and saw him still trying to get Sasha to release poor Peep’s body.  He eventually succeeded and returned.  While he washed his hands I asked what he did with it.

“Threw her in the trash,” he whispered.

“So, Dad, what happened?” Bug asked.

“Sasha got Peep.”

“Is she ok?”

“Nope.  She’s dead.”

“Well, that’s one less chicken to worry about!”

Dinner was ready and I called Buddy up to eat.  Man got the drink orders while I dished out the food.

“What happened earlier?” Buddy asked.

“Sasha killed Peep!” Bug announced.

“WHAT?!”  Buddy started to cry and he ran to his bedroom.

Man and I left him alone while we finished getting everything served and set on the table.  Man went back to Buddy’s room and brought him out.  Buddy sat at the table with his face in hands while he sobbed.

“I know Buddy.  I’m sorry,” I said.  “Don’t be mad at Sasha.  She’s just a dog being a dog.”

“I don’t think I can eat!” he bawled.  “I don’t want to go to karate tonight either.”

“That’s fine,” Man said.

Buddy did eat.  When he said his prayers he prayed for every dead animal and person we have ever known.

“Do you think Peep will lay eggs for God?” he asked.

“I’m sure of it,” I said.

At night, Sasha sleeps on the floor in our room and Drake sleeps in the mud-room.  Last night Man apparently kept both in the house.  I don’t know why because I went to bed early.  At about 1:15 I woke up because I could hear Sasha puking.

Ug.  Great.

Then I could smell something foul.  Like dog poo.

No!  Did she poo when she threw up?!

I reluctantly put on my glasses to assess the damage and clean it up.  I turned the hall light on so as to give light without waking Man.  There, on the floor before Sasha, were the remains of Peep.  Just a blob of feathers and Sasha was licking it.

“Sasha no!  Stop that!  Honey!  Wake up!”

“What is it…?”

“Sasha threw up….Peep.”

Man got out of bed and stood over the dog to have a look.

“I’ve got it,” he said.

Gagging again, I left the room to sit on the futon in the guest room.  (Or as Bug calls it, the cruoton.)  Drake was sleeping on the futon.  He raised his head when I sat down and then he snuggled into me.

You are the one I love!  You’re the best dog ever!

Sasha came in and put her head on my lap.

“Ack!  No!  Sasha get off!”

Chicken puker!

Man went back to bed and I followed.

“What did you do with it?” I asked.

“I threw it in the trash.”

“The trash in the garage?”

“No.  The trash in the kitchen.”

“Babe?!  Are you serious?!  Gross!  It’s going to stink up the whole house!”

“No it’s not.  The trash smells like garlic.”

“Ugh!  That is disgusting.”

“I’ll take it down to the garage in the morning then!” he snapped.

“K.  Thank you.”

“Mmhm.”

In the morning I let Sasha out to go potty.  I couldn’t pet her and tried not to let her touch me.  I love her still, I just…she’s tainted right now with chicken death.  The boys and I commenced with getting ready for the day.  I tossed an empty cereal box into the trash and was hit with a foul smell mixed with garlic.

Dang it!  He didn’t take out the trash!

I got the boys to the bus stop.  As Buddy got on the bus he said something about the loss of Peep.

“Uh-oh,” Caren said.  “What happened…?”

I relayed the story, she laughing and me gagging and dry heaving in between.

“You are well on your way to vegetarianism!” Caren laughed.

“I totally am.  Oh man…I just hope I stay funny.”

Aside: Once home I immediately took out the kitchen trash, once again gagging the whole way.

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About buddyandbug

Man and I moved from Texas to Colorado with Buddy and Bug. This blog is a chronicle of our adventures as we deal with homesickness and adjust to Mountain Living. “If you are a dreamer,come in. If you are a dreamer, a wisher, a liar, a hoper, a prayer, a magic-bean-buyer. If you're a pretender, come sit by my fire, for we have some flax-golden tales to spin. Come in! Come in!” ~ Shel Silverstein
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