hole punching memories

Our really nice knife broke. One of two big, wide, heavy but not cumbersome, knives was dropped at a party and it broke. It snapped, steel on solid tile, right at the handle. A clean break and snap, as if it were dark chocolate and not a knife with a lifetime warranty.

So, even with it being over 3 years old, I was pretty sure I had the receipt burried somewhere in a folder.

Turns out I didn’t, but I found many other things.

A wildlife release-to-care form. Smeared in tear-stained shakes, as I handed over the shocked, panting and crumpled parrot wrapped in my very best winter scarf. I found him lying on the tram tracks in Nicholson st, scooped him up and rode with him squaking qiueitly in my lap on the tram, and then in a cab urgently through the back streets to the wildlife care centre when his brown eyes looked at me as though he just wasn’t going to make it through.
My $45 parrot probably didn’t make it, but he sure departed life in a pretty dramatic way.


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