If all dogs go to heaven, where do song birds, turtles and chickens go?

My family has a horrible history with pets. Horrible. In fact, if you are a sensitive and good human being, you might want to click off of this post. Growing up we had so many animals and I can't think of a single one that died of natural causes. Let's journey through a few of the particularly traumatizing, shall we?

The Bird. There was only ever one bird, for good reason, so it gets to be The Bird. Say it out loud. The tone required is one of solemnity. The Bird incident occurred when I was too little to really understand, but I think it still haunts my poor Mom. The Bird had a cage but was occasionally allowed to fly around our little apartment. Try not to think of it as unhygienic. Think Snow White. There is my drop dead gorgeous Mom with a few kids in a sunny little apartment whistling some pretty tune, actually probably REO Speedwagon, with a cute little bird tweeting along. Except one day she gets to the chorus, "Heard it from a friend who, heard it from a friend who..." And suddenly she realizes she's singing solo. Maybe the bird got out? Maybe it flew off to be with bird friends in this great big world? Maybe.. 


AHHHHHH! That's right when my Mom, who was doing dishes, stuck her hand in the disposal to find out what was plugging up the water from draining. Little free bird got it's foot caught when it flew down to check out what that black hole in the sink was. Along came Cindy White to do dishes..need I say more?

Turtle. My brother came home with more than one abandoned animal from the park near our house. The turtle was one of these rescued creatures. It was dinner plate sized and pretty exotic to us children. You can't really love on a turtle, at least in any natural way I'm aware of, so the turtle lived a nice solitary life in the backyard. Apparently the turtle didn't share our view of nice and solitary. It tried to make a break for it. We were sitting at the kitchen table eating breakfast when my brother's cereal spoon stopped mid route from bowl to mouth. 


"Hey, is that the turtle?" We all look out the window and yup, it was the turtle. Halfway up the fence. Yeah, our turtle from the park could apparently climb fences. We pulled her/him/it down but it had a wild heart. The next time we found the turtle after a few days absence, it had made it all the way down the side driveway and out into the street. That was the last time we were able to rescue turtle. We never saw it again. I like to think it made it all the way to turtle paradise. We all like to think that. 


Cluck aka Rover. Cluck was our chicken, at least in body. Another park rescue, Cluck thought she was a dog. She would tap on the back door when she wanted out and tap to get back in. She loved to sit on your lap and be cuddled. Cluck had a little doggy brain. Cluck even liked to chase our cat around the backyard. Thing is, we already had a dog to do that. With the cat chasing duties stolen out from under his nose, the dog decided the only right thing to do would be to chase the chicken. 


One fine day when the stars were aligned just right, a few select members of our family were able to witness the dog chasing the chicken who was chasing the cat. The parade ran to the fence where the cat leaped to the top in perfect form. The chicken flapped it's wings and was able to get about a foot off the ground which was the perfect height for the dog, who was coming at it full speed, to slam into it, nose stuck in bum. Paper, or rather screen, doesn't do the scene justice. The family members just stood in silence as the poor dog freaked out. Then they probably turned to each other to make sure it was real. It was that good. No animal was physically damaged from this event. Psychologically, that dog was never the same.


Cluck's demise was discovered New Year's Eve when we were setting up the trampoline Santa had brought. My sister went to kick a patch of snow but it wasn't a patch of snow. The neighbor's dog had finally made it into the back yard. That was one of the few times I saw tears in my Dad's eyes. He carried it, stiff as a board through the house by it's feet while all of his little kids trailed behind him. We walked through the living room past my Mom who called out "What is that?" "It's Cluck," we all whispered, "Cluck is dead." Straight out to the dumpster. Straight in. 


I think there was revenge talk of poisoning the neighbor dog but we were just trying to make our Dad feel better. 


Thing is, I don't want to repeat that history. So when Jared came home with three of these the other day, I panicked. 

Our new neighbor's dog was trained in duck hunting. My two year old doesn't get that they aren't just noisy toys. I have a freaking cat. Lord bless these sweet ducks until I can get Jared to list the suckers on Craigslist.