And why be afraid of her? She is gentle, white and fluffy. Let's sit down with the men in the kitchen, and never go down once. Well, if he jumps over his business, he will just ask if we have everything here, otherwise he can figure out something to bite on the tooth, another one. Not everything is for us to eat only “little white”. Everything is polite, cultural, without any strain of the soul.
Not like Andryukha. He has a spouse ... As if on watch, for half an hour, he will surely come up to the kitchen with a swan of white and look at the whole crowd, purely masculine. True, look no longer swan. And the ruble will not give. And so, with steel rigor. But silently. He will look, he will look, he will wait until the conversations of the spontaneous will subside, will unfold slowly and will be removed ... With meaning, the large print from the back is clearly embossed, it will be removed. Not sat down, they say, falcons?
Well, after the second such “visit”, you already understand: really, you stayed late, you stayed late ... So you will not abandon Andryukha alone to be torn apart by this Bengal tiger, right? Friend, after all. Here you sit in a kitchen trench, open in full profile. With parapet, weed on it for camouflage and niche for ammunition. It is no longer crawling in the throat. Although the first, even the fourth - the same stake. Anyway! Russians don't give up. Until the last bullet, glasses, that is, we will stand. To death. And from under the table, even as we fall, we will start shooting back ...
Not-her ... Well, I'm not like that. Not at all.
And you will ask the men in the eyes:
- Yes, what are you? Are you afraid of Svetka, or what?
And you will hear, with such bleating, squeezed, with eyes already set aside:
- Y-yes-aa ...
Of course, on the one hand, it is pleasant that, unlike them, they have already forgotten, like him, that powder smells, every day with a sapper through a minefield. With a tiger in the same apartment. He will only turn away ... And you are on his tail. Yes, and jump, before the tail. Know, they say, ours!
Well, and respect for you is genuine.
But I myself know. Yes, it is not so at all. White, she and fluffy. Affectionate. And she loves me. Well, I'm her, of course.
A character. What can you do? What is. She and the mother-in-law with the mother-in-law, the kingdom of heaven, they walked on the same floor. And they loved Svetka more and more than the older one. No, to say something, of course, did not say anything. But I see. Not blind.
And so with such a character, yes drooling pink here with such huge bubbles, but for the whole small apartment? ... Never and for nothing. I will not believe!
And I would not have believed if I had not seen it myself.
It all started with a parrot ...
* * *
The youngest has already gone to school. And the birthday so inevitably coming. So it is clear that new jeans would be necessary. It is necessary ... But what is she? What do you want? Her birthday is still.
I roll up quietly like this:
- Nas ...
- Pa ... And the parrot? ... Can I?
And it looks like this ... Everything. Without that parrot - just cranks.
- Little such, dad. I will feed him myself ... Can I? ...
And again. Down up. In the eyes. And how is it "impossible"? Why?
- Yes you can ...
In general, we bought this parrot. Small, wavy. Blue so. The cage is there, the drinker, the feeder. A pack of grain mix "Chick." And he began to live with us. Only then did I understand how much he pound raisins, then ...
It only seems that bought a parrot and - no worries. Feed, drink it. Let fly from time to time. Well, clean the cage, of course ...
Not. There is a whole science. I read the book like I almost went crazy. And that, and this, and the twenty-ninth. And it is also necessary that a special chalk or stone, such as pumice, be constantly hung in a cage. In the parrot, it turns out, like a cat's claws, the beak is constantly growing. Cat claws about what sharpens a tree. And I will scare - here. Or chalk. Or pumice. To sharpened.
Well, and ours. Sharpened. Like. Only once, in May, Svetka calls me to the cage and pokes me with a finger:
- Look ...
Look. And ours ... Poking his beak into the feeder, pulling out a seed, and it falls out of his beak and back into the feeder. And with the next seed - the same ... And with the fact that after the next ...
I remember. For sure. There are no three days like husks from the grain in the cage. And some parrot ... Today I didn’t even fly when the cage door was opened. It can be seen, grew all the same beak. The position of the lower part of the beak relative to the upper one has changed, so it is the grain that cannot hold, let alone free the nucleolus from the hard shell.
I - for the book. It says there is nothing terrible, they say. Drag your pet to the vet, he will cut the beak as it should.
To the vet, so to the vet. I have this okhlamon for the wings, in the box from under the winter boots, and - in the car. I paid all the chinarm. The veterinarian has wondered something over there and returns me to this feathered miracle. I come home.
The parrot does not eat, does not drink ... You never know, maybe a shock after the operation. Maybe a shock. Only our beak darkened ...
And in the book of that it is written that it is necessary to cut the beak carefully. That, cutting off the horny parts, not to touch that part of the beak, in which there are still living blood vessels. Because, they say, it is better if this operation, albeit simple, but the specialist will perform.
And I went to whom? Maybe a specialist. It only seems to me that before such specialists were called bone crushers. Two days later, our parrot died.
Well, dead and gone ... After a week or two, and already holidays. Children need for the summer - to the mother. And the parrot - where? With myself? In the car? Without sanitary book? With transfer in Moscow? And for what? So that on the very first day, which cat would he get?
A woman with a cart ...
Children, of course, in deep mourning:
- Dad, are you going to bury Chika?
- I'll bury, bury ...
- And where?
- Well, not in the yard. Here, right outside the house, the woods begins, I will go deeper, away from the dogs that the owners are constantly walking, and will bury them.
- And put a cross? ...
- By itself!
And for the garbage can and to the exit.
Only at the door, in the hallway already, Svetka intercepts me:
- Where are you going?
- On the trash ...
- A shovel that you do not take?
And I look ... From my eyes ... Tears! Themselves. So run. So run. And those who are in good health ... like peas.
“So, Light ... What, am I going straight into the woods with an empty bucket, a shovel under my arm and a parrot in my teeth? Now, I take out the garbage, come back, take a shovel and go. And you still, at least in a rag which wrap it.
- A-aa ... And I thought ...
- Fool! Turkey also thought. Why, the soup got.
- Okay, okay ... Go too, nerd. And we really. Wrap it up while Chika ...
* * *
That's how I buried that parrot. No, the cross, of course, did not put. Though God's creature, so unchristened.
But broke a wand with ate and stuck it. So it was clear that not just a mound. Grave.
And then Sveta would not have jumped to the door ... And I would not have seen those tears. With a large pea. Well, you probably understood everything yourself. And I am silent for what I myself am ashamed to recall.