This happens to me all. the. time. Only, it never ends in “Happily Ever After.”
There was the bird egg we found dropped in our driveway with a leg sticking out that we rushed to the wildlife center, but it died later that day.
There were the baby bunnies that got left by their mother for so long (we tried to wait it our for her to come back) that by the time I got to them, there was just no hope.
There was the baby bird I saved from getting smashed by a schoolbus, but when I tried to reunite it with its bird family, watched it get pecked at instead (who knows what ever happened to that thing. sigh)
There was the baby squirrel that just seemed to lose the will to live.
There was the bat that magically found its way into my house and got put in a box (LIKE ALL THE WEBSITES SAID) so it could be kept safe and released at night time, but when we opened the box, it was in full rigor.
I could keep going, but honestly, it’s depressing. I don’t have Cinderella saving powers. These animals seem to think I do, but little do they know, I’m the wicked witch (even Maleficent wouldn’t kill baby animals).
When we moved out of that house on the field where animals flocked to me like a frickin’ Disney movie, I felt relieved. Maybe the new yard would be critter-free, or the critters in the general vicinity wouldn’t have death wishes. A girl can dream, right? Still, a little piece of me missed it. No, not the death part, geez. I missed the fleeting feeling of magic.
That’s why when I heard the familiar sounds of injured animal coming from outside my new home, my heart fluttered with pixie dust-like delight. Finally, a chance to redeem myself! To become the princess I know I was meant to be! I sprang from the couch and ripped open the back door, putting my ear to the wind. The sound was nowhere to be heard. Door closed, back on couch and back to work, and there it was again. After years of children screaming at my face, perhaps my hearing isn’t what it used to be. I ran to the front door this time, ripped the door open, and put my ear to the wind. Silence. Dejected, I sat back down on the couch. Maybe it was too far away, or one of the neighbor’s yippity yap dogs, or maybe I’m just insane. Or, y’know… maybe I opened the door and it died after breathing the same air as me. Any of those were highly possible.
The next day comes, and I found myself sitting in the same place on the same couch when I heard the same sound. This could NOT be a coincidence! I looked to my animals–they generally spring to action when a critter is near. The dog by my feet gave me the “Lady, you crazy!” look. The bunny… well, he’s just an asshole, but he’s a silent asshole. The other dog is about 200 pounds and couldn’t make a tiny helpless creature sound if her fat ass depended on it. It’s BACK! NEVER FEAR, WOODLAND CREATURE! CINDERJENNY IS HERE TO SAVE THE DAY!
Or cause your untimely demise…. COME TO ME!
Yet again, the outdoors were oddly silent. No squeaky squeaky “help me!” Not even a yippity yap. Confused, I decided to search the house. It wouldn’t be the first time one made its way indoors.
Nothing upstairs, under the furniture, in the bathrooms, or stowed away in the garage.
Is this it? Have I REALLY, and FINALLY lost the last bit of my mind? Did I imagine the entire thing?
Once again, I sit back down, and I swear to the sweet homebirthed baby Jesus, the second I did, I heard the sound- only this time it was so close that either this thing was in my house, or I was the plot of some B-Rated horror film where I was going to be mauled by an angry chipmunk with a broken arm.
I sat forward on the couch and slowly looked down at my feet, afraid there would be a crazy chainsaw wielding chipmunk with clown paint on (what? my imagination ran wild!) and what did I see? My dog. And then that same wounded animal sound. Only… it wasn’t a wounded animal.
It was my dog.
More specifically– my dog’s ass.
This is Bibbidi Bobbidi Bullshit!
There was no injured animal in need of my assistance. No pixie dust to be found. No crown to earn or magical powers to show off. Just a noisy dog ass, and I’m not saving that.
No, I’m not Cinderella. I’m Farterella. One day I’ll earn my crown. For now, it’s a golden bottle of Febreze.
On the bright side, no animals were harmed in the making of this blog. Just my nose.
@wildblueME I just don't tell them what I'm making anymore
Winning Advice from an 8-year old goo.gl/fb/MmhfYU
Y'know what's awesome? I don't even have to waste time trying new recipes because my kids will tell me they hate it before I start cooking.
@Julieannefiu I still sing WRAPPED UP LIKE A DOUCHE. I think they're lying about the "real" lyrics
I sang SO many embarrassingly wrong song lyrics with such confidence. pic.twitter.com/Ww5TaAxY3r
@AndreaPerez0217 Not that I'm biased, but I highly recommend ;) Hope you enjoy!
Parenthood: you think it's gonna be all hugs & booboo kisses, but it's really cooking food everyone hates & scraping boogers off of walls.