In a week, just one week, I've lost three pets. Three. In a week! That's a fuckin' record, even for me. Well, no. But it almost tied the '03 record when I lost Frijol, Mammas and the parakeets all in three days. Shit. Part of me wants to laugh. I really do.

Well, this all started back on Sunday. Dud ran over Blade. I cried. (For the record, Blade was one of four kittens Emma had back in the end of March, beginning of April, I'm not sure which. They're about six weeks old now, I'm sure.) He and Spidey were twins. Spidey's still around, thank God. His stupid brother, Kraven, ran away, though. Or got stolen. He was a cute spotted critter that looked a bit like a cheetah. So there goes pet number two. Then on Tuesday (or was it Monday? It was Tuesday, I'm sure) 'Ama surprised me with a new pet: Bremen, the rooster. I've always wanted a fuckin' rooster, swear to God. Always. They just remind me of my grandmother. She used to have a shitload of chickens and doves and ducks and turkeys. And in the morning, I'd always be awakened by the soft cooing of the doves and the strong, vibrant cry of the roosters. So I've been wanting one for years. Thing is, I live in the city. And yeah, this town is small as shit, but it's growing at an alarming rate. And we're getting people moving down here who aren't Mexican (not that there's anything wrong with that, but I swear, it was all a sea of brown when I was growing up) and don't quite share in our often picturesque culture. Such as raising chickens in the backyard. Some folks don't appreciate roosters crowing at six in the morning, especially on their days off. And the guy next door and out back and on the corner over there - all Anglo. From experience, I can tell you that they do not appreciate roosters. (Yeah, Mexican family down the street had a couple of chickens. All hunted down by said neighbors' dogs. Coincidence? I think not.) So I was keeping my beautiful golden-white rooster on the hush-hush inside, see? He'd roam the house these past few days and I'd track after him, cleaning up his shit, making sure none of it ended up on the furniture. And at night he'd sleep in a cat carrier that the Dud so generously offered to lend me. This way, he'd crow every morning, but just in my room, just for me. Everyone was happy.

Until today. Stupid me decides to take the damn bird outside for a bit in the carrier. Maybe tie a shoelace around his foot and tether him up outside for a little bit? So he can see the light and squabble with fellow birds and whatnot. So I gently set the carrier down on the driveway, plop my fat ass down beside him and open the door, ready with a red shoelace in my hand.

Fuckin' bird takes off like a bat outta hell. Big surprise there, huh? So I make a grab for him, but I'm sitting on the floor, and he's trying to fly. I manage to grab him by the tail feathers... which after two more flaps of his wings are left in my hands while this fucker's squaking indignantly and swooping out over the fence. I am left on the floor, with a handful of feathers. How pathetic am I?

Don't worry, I make chase. Real spectacle I was out there, too, running around the street with a clothing hamper held high over my head, waiting for the exact opportune moment to swoosh it down on this guy's feathered ass. All the while he's clucking and squaking indignantly. And y'know what? I don't even know roosters could cluck. But I should've, y'know, figured. Aaaaand he crosses the street. Into the only neighbors in my vicinity that I consider truly Mexican. Mexicans that know how to make pollo azado really, really well. I didn't want my rooster there when they got home, but I had no real choice. I had to go pick up 'Ama from work. So I drove to the town up north from where I live, picked up 'Ama and filled her in while we drove back home. She was so disappointed. She couldn't believe I hadn't had the common sense to tie up the damn bird before I took the carrier outside. I couldn't believe it either. There goes her ten dollars.

Together, once we got home, we tried catching the fucker again, seeing as he'd come back into the yard and was now pecking away happily at the seeds I had thrown out for him at the foot of a tree. Long story short, didn't work. After the upteenth attempt, he flew over our neighbor's tall wooden fence, over the head of their vicious-looking black dog and onto their roof. Last I saw of him he'd flown to another roof, higher and further away.