Fowl Play
Carrie Houghton
I can’t say I ever really liked that no good, smack-talking parakeet, but the shop is empty without him. I need the occasional, “Hey, asshole!” to keep me humble.
More than sadness, curiosity consumes me. A parakeet doesn’t just unhinge its cage, unlock a deadbolt, and go off in search of a better life. I mean, he gets premium food here. A gilded cage even.
Nothing makes sense. The till wasn’t touched. The cockatiels are still chirping in their cages. Not a single hermit crab has switched shells. The parakeet just up and disappeared.
Of course, I suspect foul play. But who do you call when you suspect a birdnapping? I highly doubt there is a special victims poultry unit.
I shake my head in bewilderment and walk into my office. That’s where I see it, hanging
