Dear Diary,
In the Spring of 2012, during lunch in the Sub Bowl, our gaggle of girls was enjoying the afternoon as we did most days, splayed amongst a group of trees framed by concrete blocks. We were approached by some frazzled boys clutching a styrofoam to-go container, dizzied and crazed with adrenaline, sleep deprivation, or perhaps a combination of the two. These boys — fraternity pledges, no doubt — came close, asking if we could help. They sheepishly opened the to-go box much as one would reveal the contents of a treasure chest.
Inside was a parakeet with a broken wing. Surely the victim of a pledging quest, it was huddled in the box, shaking but otherwise unmoving. I uncomfortably shifted my weight on the concrete block where I sat to get a better look. “I’ll take it.” I didn’t skip a beat. I felt instant regret.
While a friend drove me to PetCo for supplies that afternoon, I used my Blackberry phone to call the local bird store for help, Ramona’s Parrots. I purchased a $7 plastic hamster cage and transferred the parakeet from one dreadful holding cell to another.
My roommate was so displeased. A quiet fury communicated that it better be gone in the morning. I promised that “first thing tomorrow, I’m taking it to the parrot store.”
Sadly, but unsurprisingly, the parakeet did not make it to Ramona’s. It began seizing in the middle of the night. This poor bird had breathed its last in my dorm room on the first floor of North Russell Hall. I was exhausted, a little angry at the fraternity pledges. Resigned, I drearily walked the bird in the hamster cage over to the dumpster behind the Penland dining hall.
Paige Sullivan (’15)
Waco, Texas
