12:30 AM, August 18th.
So. I’m all tucked away in bed, but Ronan isn’t settling down. He’s pacing back-and-forth, up and down the stairs and this signals to me that he probably needs to go outside. Never mind that we already went outside before I got into bed. So I untucked myself and headed downstairs to let Ronan out.
I do my usual thing which is to stand out on the back porch while he does his business. This is mostly so he won’t spend the next half an hour out there looking for the “perfect place to do his business“. Out of the corner of my eye, I see something floating in his water dish. I fish my phone out of my pocket and hit the flashlight.
There’s a dead bird floating in his water dish.
A lot of things go through my mind at that moment. Why is there a dead bird floating in his water dish? How did a dead bird get into his water dish? Did the bird somehow drown? Was it some sort of bird suicide? Was there a bird turf war happening that I didn’t know about and this was one of the casualties? Was it a warning from the bird mafia?
Or, even worse, the cat mafia?
These are just the highlights of what was going through my head. Then it dawned on me. I have to clean this up. I really have to clean this up. This is no longer just a water dish with a dead bird in it, it’s a petri dish. Who knows what kind of weird diseases that bird may have been carrying and now it’s floating in this water.
I have to disinfect everything.
I have to take care of the dead bird.
I am going to need gloves.
So, I get some gloves and I take the water dish off into the corner of the yard and I drain off the water. Well, most of the water. Then I dump what’s left, including the dead bird into the trashcan. Now I have to take the water dish inside and scrub it.
Which I do using antibacterial dish soap. A lot of dish soap. Lot scrubbing. I get it all clean and then I clean it again because I’m me. And I’m slightly freaking out.
Meanwhile, Ronan has no idea what’s going on and is happily pooping. Dogs. It could’ve been worse. He could’ve noticed the dead bird before I did. I don’t even wanna think about that. It’ll make me puke.
So I get the dish cleaned up, hopefully disinfected, refill it with water and return it to the back porch. At which point Ronan comes running up and is ready to come back inside.
Now I have to tuck myself in bed and try to get my brain to shut down enough that I can go to sleep.
Which is really difficult to do when you are worried that the bird mafia or the cat mafia have sent you a warning…