I've been sick with Russian Flu since last Saturday, which almost ruined Christmas and the fact that V, C, Aunt I, and the others were here.
Mommy buried Q. I'm going to carve a gravemark with my new Scout knife, like this:
To Q
Sept. 9, '78 - Dec. 26, '78
Thank you
for living with us
Q used to go up the bars of his cage upside-down and backwards, and skinny through his seed cups. I don't think his successor or any other parry-keet with good sense will dot that.
I think my next parrakeet will be called Junior, to remember a great bird.
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