on Birds, Socks, and Becoming Conventional

My Thursday night consisted of this: lounging on the couch while pretending to do work, taking an hour to fold a basket of laundry, catching up on my exhaustive dvr list, and watching my inbred dog toss a stuffed pumpkin up in the air and catch it about a thousand times (she may be at the risk of getting retained in training class, but she knows how to entertain herself). Smokey and I were feeling a little defeated after the trainer strongly implied that she will not be graduating from her classes in 2 weeks ( although, that really just means she can re-take it for free so, in all reality, Pet Smart is really just putting itself at a loss in this brutal economy).

While scrolling through my DVR list, now littered with Reid-shows aka "Hillbillie Handfishin'," I realized how distant all of those neon Thursday nights at Rick's had become. And, yes, that is my one and only attempt at sounding profound. Instead, I was trying to ensure that all of my shows had dvr'd and was relishing the fact that I could watch sitcoms in 20 minutes and dramas in about 42.

During these fine 62 minutes of allotted tv time, my inbred dog decided to herd all of her toys and personal items ( brush, traveling water bowl, and seat belt) into a pile in our room. With the dog's newfound love for herding er maybe for hording, it occured to me that it was very possible that it had been she who had planted the bird in the laundry room.

Flashbacking to Monday, after a somewhat long and exhausting day, I was falling asleep on the early side while Reid stayed up and did homework and probably played Call of Duty. I awoke slightly because I heard him bumbling around in the laundry room. Soon the bedroom door cracked and he entered, turning on the closet light so as not to wake me fully. Looming over me like a vampire or something, Reid whispered, "hey, I think there might be a bird behind the dryer, or maybe a sock. I don't know. I'm wearing my glasses and I cannot see well."

There were two things really wrong with this statement. Number one, there should not be a BIRD in MY house. Number two, why would you wear glasses that impair your vision? I was royally confused and dying to enter a REM cycle. I tried to convince myself that I was dreaming about a vampire.

"It's probably just a sock," he said settling in, "don't worry about it." I am sure I mumbled something unintelligible and fell asleep.

In the morning, my genetically maladjusted puppy jumped on top of us as usual and I was up pulling on running clothes. As I reached into the basket for fresh socks, something about vampires, socks and birds entered my brain. Did that really happen? I thought to myself, tying up my shoes. Wincing, I slowly peered behind the dryer. And there it was.

It was the BIRD. Terrified and disgusted, I let out a yelp and screamed at Reid who was shaving in the bathroom. Then I grabbed the dog's leash and we ran like hell... for about two blocks until we got lazy and retreated to our typical pace.

During the run, my brain started spinning. How did it get in? Had we left a door open? Had it flown down the chimney? that tiny crack on the ceiling of our closet? God, there were so many ways the bird could have gotten in. On the bright side, Reid's glasses were probably ok.

When we returned home, Reid had left for work but next to the dryer was his lacrosse stick. After spending so many years of his life playing and coaching, he was now using it to scoop intruders from behind our dryer.